


Hunting a Dragon

by TriDom



Series: Hunting a Dragon [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Dragon!Castiel, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Rutting, Slow Burn, Wingfic, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is hunting a creature no one has seen since the Old World. Even in those stories they were fables. Now he believes he's found one in Castiel Novak. When he takes Castiel's hospitality, his wine and food, the world loses as much meaning and his fragile grip on reality begins to slip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The time is wonky in this, so I'll just set it up. It's modern day, but in another universe, so older words are used commonly. Still, Castiel's language is dated even for this world. Also, just buckle down. The first few chapters could be a little confusing, but it'll come together.

The wind cut through the canvas of Dean’s jacket and the cotton of his hood as he walked up a dark driveway. Through the sleet, he saw the glow of lights through the windows of the house in front of him. After nearly fifteen minutes of walking in this shit storm, he was at the bottom of the front steps. His feet were beyond numb in the non-insulated toes of his leather boots. Everything hurt from the cold, radiating into his fingers and starting to work into his joints. He hardly paused to look at the old house that was more a mansion, all dark stone metal against the black sky.

He went up the wide stone stairs and pounded on the door with the flat of his hand, huddling under the eave, looking back out at the yard. It was all turning to mud.

The door came open and he almost fell in as heater warmed air came out.

“Man, am I glad someone’s home,” Dean said, forcing a smile.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Yeah, my car’s stuck up to the fenders,” Dean lied. “Can I use your phone?”

The guy looked at him for a moment before stepping back. “Come in.”

The foyer was oddly lit and it took him a second to see the candles in the chandelier above the entryway and more on the tables along the edges. He closed the door behind him and couldn’t help looking up at the iron work of the light fixture. It had to have cost more than his Impala.

“Take off your boots, please,” Castiel said.

Dean crouched down and started to unlace them, mud crumbling to the tan tiles. While he did it, he glanced up at Castiel Novak. He knew his name, because it was his job, but he hadn’t expected his voice to sound like that. It was graveled and deep, like it should be coming from someone much larger. Then again, he’d expected Castiel to be larger when he wasn’t at the end of a telephoto lens.

 “Where do you want them?” Dean asked.

“By the door is fine,” Castiel said. “The phone is in the kitchen.”

Dean followed Castiel through one of the doorways off the entryway. They went down a hall and Dean’s sense of smell seemed to heighten in the dark. It was supposed to smell musky, like the acridness of a cottonmouth. He smelled nothing. Really nothing, like a completely absence of smell. If something could smell cool, then it smelled that way. He felt along his jacket until he bumped the hilt of his silver knife concealed in the layers.

“Quite a storm out there,” Dean said.

“I suppose it is.”

“Thought I was going to freeze to death walking up your driveway.”

“It’s quite long,” Castiel said, then he passed through a doorway where cold nightlight came in. “How did you get passed the gate?”

“Climbed it. Sorry. I wouldn’t have, but you’re the only place around.”

“Of course.”

Castiel looked at him for a moment longer before going farther into the room. Dean followed him and looked around the large kitchen. Castiel went to the wall and flicked a switch. Low light glowed beneath the cabinets.

“I thought the power must be out with the candles,” Dean said.

“No. I just enjoy low light.”

Front the corner of his eye, Dean watched Castiel as he moved through the kitchen. He was very quiet. When he moved he didn’t even seem to move the air. He took a phone from its cradle on the counter near a stainless steel refrigerator and held it out to Dean across the island.

“Do you need a phonebook for a towing service?” Castiel asked.

“Nah. My buddy has his own. Thanks, though,” he said, punching in the numbers with his thumb and put it to his ear. It only took him a minute to hear Bobby’s rough voice.

“You’re at his house? Dean, this is fucking moronic come home.”

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel. “Yeah. If you could do me a favor. It’s raining real bad here and I got my car stuck.”

“Is he one?”

“Don’t know. Hey, man, what’s the name of this road?” he asked, looking at Castiel.

“Scala.”

“Scala. About 5 minutes north of Mangrove.”

“Dean, get out of there. He’s a death wish.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you then.”

Dean hung up and passed the phone back to Castiel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Dean.”

“I know who you are.”

Dean's held out hand faltered. Castiel’s lips hadn’t moved when he’d said that and it was so quiet. Then Castiel turned and smiled, close-mouthed.

“Well meet. Castiel Novak.”

Dean made himself smile as he shook Castiel’s hand. His skin didn’t feel moist or papery. It just felt like skin.

“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Castiel asked.

“Nah.”

“It’s no trouble I was going to make my own meal before I answered the door.”

“Then sure. Whatever you’re having.”

“Feel free to have a seat,” Castiel said.

Dean sat at the bar and leaned on the cool granite. He traced one of the lines through it while he watched Castiel. He took what looked like two metal wine glasses down front a cabinet and brought them to the island. He opened an unseen door below the counter and Dean heard the flow of a fridge. Then Castiel let the door closed and brought out a bottle of red wine.

“Is this fine?” Castiel asked.

“Perfect.”

Castiel poured the wine into one glass and handed it to Dean. He handled the cup gracefully, like it was something that had just been born in his hand. When Dean took it he was surprised by the weight and the first spark of apprehension ran down his spine.

“Nice cups,” Dean said,

Castiel nodded. “Thank you.”

After Castiel poured his own glass, he took a drink and went to the fridge. The harsh interior light shone on his face and Dean felt a seizure in his hand. There was a shadowed pattern on his throat, like a mostly worn away tattoo. It looked like scales.

Then the door closed and Castiel came back. He took out a cutting board and laid a block of cheese and a roll of summer sausage on it.

“Are you a native?” Castiel asked.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, glancing around the room at anything he could use or anything that could be used against him. This wasn’t a good room to try anything in. Too many knives.  

Castiel glanced up, while he cut the sausage in thick slices. “Are you from the area?”

“Nope. Kansas, born and bred.”

“You’re very far from home. What brings you here?” Castiel asked.

“I had some work in the area. I’m a land surveyor.”

“Where you out here surveying Mrs. Cavot’s land? I know she plans to sell.”

“Yep. Didn’t expect the storm, though. Sorry to put you out like this.”

“You haven’t at all. Although, I expect your friend won’t be able to make it out in this weather,” Castiel said.

“Maybe not,” Dean said, with a lying frown toward the window. “Do you think it’s going to let up anytime soon?”

“I doubt it. If not, you’re welcome to a spare room.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Where else could you go, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. “Okay. Thanks a lot.”

“My hospitality is freely given to the weary,” Castiel said, with another small smile.

Castiel went to another set of cabinets and took down two small plates. Then he went to another and took down a sack. He untied the burlap and set a handful of crackers on each plate. 

Dean couldn’t help his stomach growling. He could see the rough grain of the crackers, the unevenness of the cheese, and the chunks of pepper in the sausage. It was all old-looking. For a second, he could picture gladiators eating that way and he felt the heaviness of his blade stronger in his wet coat.

“Thanks,” he said.

Castiel nodded and sat a stool down from him.

“God what is that?” Dean asked, chewing the sausage he’d just bitten into. It was pungent, making his mouth tingle. He took another bite.

“Venison.”

“Never had it this good.”

“It’s an old family recipe.”

Faintly, warning bells went off, but he took another bite on autopilot and ignored them. It was so damn good. The cheese was good too. When he finished, he sucked his fingers of grease.

“Do you want more?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, but that was great.”

“It's better with the wine to wash it down.”

Dean picked up his cup and drained it. A flush of heat went down his throat and radiated up his back to his neck, into his head. The meaty undertone of it boosted the earthiness of the sausage. It was the best thing he could remember drinking in the long time. Then Castiel was there, pouring him another glass.

“It’s a potent drink,” Castiel said.

“Awesome, though.”

“It is.”

Dean took another drink and felt his head starting to get hazy. It didn’t stop him from draining it. Castiel smiled as he poured himself another glass. He didn’t offer another as he corked the bottle and put it back in the fridge beneath the counter.

“Would you like water?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking parched,” then he shook his head. “Sorry for the mouth.”

“Your mouth is fine,” Castiel said, taking another glass and filling it with water from the tap.

He brought it back and set it before Dean.

“Would you like to come watch television with me?” Castiel asked.

“Sure,” Dean said, standing. Then he swayed.

“Maybe you should lie down instead,” Castiel said.

“Yeah maybe,” Dean said, catching the counter. “You weren’t kidding about the wine.”

“No. Also a family recipe.”

Dean felt Castiel’s hand on the small of his back and jumped. He hadn’t heard him move. He hadn’t even seen him fucking move. The muffled warning bells in the back of his head were trying to go off, but they were clogged. On the surface, he couldn’t even really care as Castiel urged him forward, leading him by his back.

“Up the stairs. Watch your feet. That would be an unhappy fall,” Castiel said as they went up a set of stairs in some room, off some hallway Dean couldn’t have found for anything.

It was all so damn dark. Then they were in a room and Castiel’s hands were under his jacket, sliding it from his shoulders. Dean’s head fell back and hit a wooden post.

“Your clothes are soaked. I’m sorry I should’ve offered you something else to wear earlier,” Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. “’S alright. Just sleep naked anyway.”

He heard Castiel laughing quietly and smiled himself with his eyes closed. Castiel kept tugging off his clothes and it was like when Sam would do the same thing. He’d come in drunk to whatever hotel they were sharing and Sam would help get him into bed. He’d do it laughing. That sweet Sammy laugh. Dean’s throat felt tight.

He was only aware he was naked when he felt cloth against him. Sheets. Cool sheets. Warm hands grazing his shoulders. Pulling up a cover. Heavy cover. The no smell. The bitterness. The sour. Cottonmouth.

Then he knew nothing.

***

Dean woke up and his head pounded. The room was dark. There was a fire in a grate. The blankets were so heavy. He shoved them off and tangled in them. He fell off the mattress and his backside slammed wood. Pain shot up his spine and cold air stung his skin.

His clothes were piled at the end of the massive bed near a rug. He crawled to them and grabbed his underwear. They were damp. He picked them up and smelled them. Did he blackout? Was it piss?

“Sammy?” he yelled.

They smelled like rain. His throat clenched and his tear ducts stung.

Saying it again caught in his throat.

He pulled himself up by the bed post and pulled on his underwear clumsily. He went to the door and pulled it open. The hall was dark. One way it was pitch black. The other, there was an open door with weak light spilling out.

He held himself up with a hand on the wall. The wallpaper was cool beneath his hand, the wood beneath his bare feet was too. He walked as quietly as he could and looked inside.

There was the man.

He sat on a couch and black wings rose above him. They surrounded him on the floral fabric. The fireplace light glowed through the membrane of one and Dean could see the veins. His eyes flared with heat.  

“Son of a bitch,” he said, like he couldn’t breathe.

“Dean?”

Dean looked back to Castiel’s eyes while he reached for his knife. It wasn’t there. His coat wasn’t there.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, standing.

“Don’t come near me.”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked.

Dean frowned. There were no wings.

There was nothing, but Castiel.

A middle height, average looking man. The alcohol tasted bitter on his tongue.

The guy liked candles and handmade food.

He felt his eyes starting to water.

“I’m sorry, man. I thought. I guess-,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled kindly. “The wine is strong. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

People didn’t talk like that. Really, they didn’t.

Except when they did. And that wasn’t a crime.

“No. Just bed,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s shoulder and leading him back to the room he’d come from.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’m sorry I’m here.”

“Shh,” Castiel said, settling Dean into the bed again. “Sleep now. Everything is worse in wavering light.”

“One time I thought my brother’s bed was the toilet and I peed on him when I was drunk. He was pissed.”

“No pun intended?” Castiel asked with a small laugh.

Dean laughed hollowly. “My imagination gets away from me when I drink.”

“Then have wonderful dreams.”

Dean was already fading out and all he could see was blue. Castiel’s eyes were blue. Pretty blue. Blue like oceans. Blue like blood, in uncut veins.

***

Dean dreamed and it was as weird as waking. Castiel sat in a chair near the foot of the bed with the fire to his back. Dean propped himself on his elbows and squinted against the light that made his head pound. Castiel had one of the metal cups in his hand.

“I haven’t lived so long by worrying about foolish child hunters,” Castiel said. “It’s tragic you felt the need to impose yourself.”

Then Castiel stood and left the room. It was all quiet. So fucking quiet. Then it was all so fucking dark.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the weird gets better after this chapter. There's a lot of dream/waking stuff in this one. If you guys have any questions, please leave them in the comments so I can answer them in later chapters. It's hard to know what's coming across and what isn't when I'm writing something this confusing.

Dean woke up to a soft knocking on the bedroom door. He rubbed the back of his neck and sat up. He expected to have a hell of a headache, but he didn’t or at least not yet. Someone knocked quietly on the door again.

“Yeah,” he said.

Castiel pushed the door open, “Good morning. I came to see how you were feeling?”

“I’m good. Sorry about last night.”

“You’re fine. I washed your clothes. If you want you can take a shower,” Castiel asked.

“Yeah if you don’t mind.”

“Towels and everything are in there,” Castiel said, gesturing to the closed door beside the fireplace. “If you want, come down to breakfast when you’re finished.”

“Sure thing.”

Castiel closed the door quietly and Dean got out of the bed. The fire in the grate had burned down. It was just smoldering in the wood as Dean walked passed it to the window. He twitched back the curtain and looked out. Everything was gray. The sky was darker than the ground, but the ground was gray too and the air between it was filled with heavy sleet.

“Son of a bitch,” he said and let the curtain fall.

Then he went to the bathroom. It was cold in the bathroom, sealed off from the warmth of the fireplace. He pushed off his underwear and went to the combined shower and tub along one wall. When he saw the toilet he felt a little nauseous, but nothing he couldn’t handle as he turned the knobs on the shower.

He stared at the water coming out, because it was easier than looking at the dimensions of that white. Just big enough to hold someone six-five if their upper body was mostly out of it.

Dean stepped in and pulled the dark brown curtain. He soaped a fresh rag on the ledge and washed his stomach. He jumped slightly when he rubbed just beneath his belly button. He took away the rag and fingered at the skin beneath his happy trail. It was a little pink, but it was just from the heat of the water. It stung, though, when he touched it. 

He frowned and kept washing his stomach. He jerked again when he touched his chest. It hurt. It felt like getting jabbed with pins. He frowned down at his chest hair and pushed it to see his skin more clearly. It was definitely pink, but that was it.

He turned away from the showerhead and hissed as the heat hit his back. Twisting his arm up behind him, he felt the width of his back. It was tenderer than his chest. He’d had ringworm before. Maybe it was ringworm, but it didn’t feel raised and it wasn’t a circle. It didn’t really itch either.

When he washed off, Dean dried off and went back to the bedroom. His clean clothes were folded on the upholstered chair in front of the fireplace. He pulled them on and stepped out in the hallway. Gray light puddled in through a few opened doors and a big window to Dean’s back.

Dean found the stairs and went down. It was easier to find the kitchen than he thought it’d be. There was a full wall of windows on one side of the kitchen. They were covered in ice. More candles were lit on the counters.

Castiel stood at the stove in front of a flat griddle pan. A glass jar of milk was on the counter beside him with the cracked brown shell of speckled chicken eggs.

“There’s juice and milk in the refrigerator. The cups are in the cabinet to my right,” Castiel said.

“Thanks,” Dean said.

Dean took down a glass and went to the fridge, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from a glass pitcher.

“Do you need any help?”

“You’re fine. Have a seat,” Castiel said.

Dean sat and watched Castiel. He’d seen kitchens this nice on TV, but that was it. People didn’t actually own things like this, like it was cut out of a magazine. If they did, then they sure as hell didn’t cook in a pair of striped sleep pants and a t-shirt, but that’s what Castiel was doing. His hair was messy and he was barefoot.

“Do you like pancakes?” Castiel asked.

“Love them.”

“Good. Would you like to call your friend again about your car?” Castiel asked. “I fear the roads will be worse.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I’ll get ahold of someone. Get out of your hair.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. You’re welcome as long as you need.”

“You’re good people,” Dean said.

“Hardly. The phone is on the counter.”

Dean stood and went to the phone. He picked it up and dialed Bobby’s number as he walked out of the room and down the long hall back toward the front door. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Oh thank God. You killed it?” Bobby asked.

“No.”

“He wasn’t one?”

“I don’t know.”

The line was quiet. Dean reached for his chest absently and winced as the touched the tender skin.

“What are you still doing there, Dean?”

“The storm is bad.”

“Then fucking walk. Just get away from that thing.”

“It’s not bad. He hasn’t even tried anything, Bobby.”

“Yeah. They’re all not bad ‘til you’re bleeding out a new hole.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said, then he hung up.

He went back to the kitchen and sat at the island. Castiel stood beside it, scooping a pancake from the pan onto a plate stacked with them. A bowl sat beside them with cut strawberries and blueberries. Another was piled with nearly raw strips of bacon.

“Please, help yourself,” Castiel said.

“It looks awesome.”

“Thank you.”

Dean waited until Castiel had made his own plate, then he served himself. They sat in the same places they had last night, but Dean hardly looked at Castiel. He didn’t really feel hungover, but he felt sluggish. His eyelids felt heavy as he hunched forward over his plate and ate in mouthfuls that were far from polite.

The bacon was underdone, but he still ate a few of the soggy strips with a stack of pancakes and finished the juice. Castiel ate nearly silently, so that Dean had to look over at him to even know he was eating at all. When Castiel turned his head slightly, Dean thought he saw a slit behind his ear. Just a flap of skin, like a gill.

A little voice stirred in his chest. Then it was gone. Even if Castiel was, it didn’t matter.

“Do you still feel well?” Castiel asked, standing and taking his plate to the sink. He stopped for Dean’s emptied one as he passed.

“Little bit of a headache,” he said, but it wasn’t as bad as the chaffing irritation of his shirt laid over his back. It felt raw, like a sunburn.

“I can get you some medication if you’d like,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

Dean rolled his shoulders and winced at the tenderness. Then he cleared his throat.

“Uh weird as this might sound, do you have some aloe or something? I think my back is having a reaction to something.”

Castiel froze at the sink. The water from the tap ran unbroken for a few moments until Dean heard Castiel passing things beneath it again.

“Of course. I hope the sheets didn’t cause it,” Castiel said.

Dean frowned. His voice sounded just as nice, but now it sounded about twice as forced.

“No. I’m sure it was walking around in all those wet clothes so long,” Dean said.

“That’s a shame.” Castiel said and turned, drying his hands. “Why are you here, Dean?”

It was so quiet Dean could only hear the tinking of the sleet on the windows for a few minutes before he cleared his throat softly again.

“Land surveying.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, my mind is terrible,” Castiel said, putting the rag he’d dried his hands on aside. “I can give you something for an allergic reaction too, but it may make you tired.”

“If you’re okay with me crashing that’s fine. I’m pretty tired anyway. I can’t believe two glasses of wine did me in.”

Castiel smiled small. “Not all of us can drink as much as we want.”

“I can normally drink just fine,” Dean said.

Castiel laughed quietly. “I’m sure.”

Then he was gone from the kitchen through a door to a room Dean hadn’t been in. Dean got up and made himself a glass of water then went to the window. The cold radiated out against his t-shirt. The sleet was so heavy. If he’d walked in this last night, he would’ve been lost in a couple of minutes tops.

“Here you go,” Castiel said.

Dean jumped slightly and water slopped from his cup, over his hand.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Castiel said.

“You didn’t,” Dean said, and held out his hand. Castiel dropped four pills into his palm. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.”

Dean gave the pills another look. They looked the same as any over the counter pain medication and allergy pills he’d ever seen. Even if they weren’t, he didn’t care. He took them and drank, swallowing them all.

“If you’d like you can come to the living room with me or go back to your room. The kitchen is open to you whenever you like,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, taking another drink of his water. When he felt Castiel’s palm graze his cheek, he jerked again. Castiel didn’t pull away though. He palmed Dean’s cheek then up to his forehead. His eyes were so fucking blue, especially when the rest of his face was washed out in the flat light.

“You feel warm,” Castiel said, taking his hand away.

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Castiel frowned. “I hope you didn’t catch a chill from the rain last night.”

“I’m tough.”

Castiel smiled small at him. “Go lay down. If you’d like to read there are books in the library, where I was last night.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “Really. Thanks for everything.”

“That isn’t needed.”

Castiel had a sweet face. Those pretty blue eyes were like puppy dog eyes. Then if felt like he were swallowing gravel. They had nothing on the sweet green puppy dog eyes he’d been raised with.

“I’m going to go lay down,” Dean said, then he left the kitchen. He went up the stairs quickly and into the bedroom.

He touched his chest where it ached deep inside and winced at the surface tenderness. He breathed and the air was cold, but it tasted so humid. He slid down the door to the wood floor, but he felt linoleum. His eyes were closed, but he saw the fog on the mirror with words that had begun to melt.

He opened his eyes and stared at the dark wood floor between his feet. He put his head between his knees and locked his fingers behind his head. Then he just tried to breathe.

***

Whatever Castiel gave Dean, knocked him out. After his little episode calmed down, he crawled into bed and he slept. It was a good deep sleep where he didn’t think or dream. Just nothing. Then he woke up and he was on fire in patches.

He tore his shirt off over his head and looked down at his chest. It was red now and it felt like embers were on him. The skin under his happy trail was red to and had a handful of tiny blisters. He popped one with a hiss of pain and watched as it bled.

“What the fuck?” he asked and reached behind him. What little of his back he could feel had blisters too.

He got up and almost collapsed. His skin stretching for him to stand was almost unbearable. It hurt so fucking bad. He stumbled to the bathroom and twisted to look in the mirror. There were large welts on a huge patch of red skin, stretching from just below his neck, across his shoulders, and down passed where the mirror stopped.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Dean gave his welts another look before going back to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he called.

Castiel opened the door and held out a bottle of blue gray liquid. “I’m sorry I forgot to give this to you earlier.” Then Castiel frowned. “You’re very red.”

“Yeah I know.”

“It looks painful. Is it anywhere else?”

Dean turned.

“Would you like me to apply some of this?” Castiel asked.

“I won’t turn you down. It hurts like a bitch.”

Castiel went to the bathroom and came back with a towel. He laid it out near the head of the bed and gestured for Dean to lay down.

“On your side,” Castiel said.

Dean laid on his side, facing the window and felt the bed dip as Castiel sat on the edge. He heard the wet noise of Castiel rubbing his hands together with whatever concoction that was and smelled mint.

“This may tingle,” Castiel said.

Dean’s eyes jerked open. Yeah it tingled. It tingled like getting shot tingled. He put the edge of his fist in his mouth and bit down to keep from making a noise. Castiel started on his shoulders, coating whatever that stuff was on him. His wet hands rubbed into his muscles then down his spine. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and bit his hand harder. He could feel the elevation of Castiel’s hands as he touched feather light, but it felt like knives were dragging down those welts.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yep,” Dean said around his fist.

Then he felt Castiel pulling down the edge of his underwear. He didn’t say anything and Castiel rubbed his hands over the top half of Dean’s ass. His thumbs passed just over the cleft of his butt and massaged in the ointment. Dean could feel the pain shooting all the way down to his asshole.

“God it feels like I’m shitting glass,” he said, squeezing the sheets.

“I’m sorry. Do I need to stop?”

“No just keep putting that stuff on,” Dean said tightly. Where Castiel had applied the ointment on his shoulders already burned less, like a cigarette burn now instead of being in an oven.

Castiel massaged into Dean’s skin before pulling his underwear back into place. Dean clenched his teeth with a low whine of noise.

“Dude, please, just take them off.”

He could only be half mortified that he was asking a guy, a pretty dignified acting guy that may or may not be a dragon to take off his underwear. The pain was that bad, it was making everything wavery. He didn’t have the capacity to be mortified with that much pain going through him.  

Castiel didn’t hesitate in pulling off his underwear. Then he took the blanket.

“Do you want to be covered?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Fuck,” Dean said, accidently moving his shoulders and almost screaming.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he panted in breaths. He couldn’t help the groans. He was just glad that when he opened his eyes, Castiel was gone. The little relief from the ointment slacked off as soon as Dean accidentally grazed his back against the sheets. Then he did scream.

His eyesight started to pulse. Everything was so bright. The firelight on the walls, glinting on the windows, on the lacquer of the bedframe, it was all hyper clear. It was so clear it hurt his head. The lingering smell of mint from the ointment burned his nose. His own perspiration was so strong it was suffocating.

“Dean, drink this,” Castiel said, coming back into the room.

Dean took the glass from him without thinking about it and he gulped. He didn’t care what it was. As long as it would help get rid of this. If it killed him then he died. At least it would stop. When the glass was empty it fell from his fingers onto the bed as he buried his face in the sheets and screamed.

He felt the far side of the mattress dip and raised his head enough to look at Castiel. He sat on the edge and the skin of his throat was marred with the almost not there pattern of scales. Dean groaned gut deep between his teeth as he starred.

“God you fucking are. I fucking knew you were,” Dean panted as it felt like his back were ripping open.

“Sleep, Dean.”

“What the fuck did you do to me? What the fuck did you do? Just fucking kill me,” he said with his voice getting louder. “God just fucking kill me!”

Castiel leaned down until his eyes were swimming. They were so deep. So blue. Moving. They were moving. The pupil narrowed as he blinked once.

“Codlata,” Castiel whispered.  

Dean saw the flash of thin, sharp teeth as Castiel’s voice wound into his brain. It sounded like a snake. His breath was murky, damp, acrid.

It was suffocating. Dean couldn’t breathe.  

Then he couldn’t feel and everything was black.  

*** 

When Dean woke up, he was in a hotel room. He was panting and covered in sweat. There was no one in the dim room. The curtains were pulled over the windows and the heater below the window kicked on.  

Then a man in a tan trench coat came in the door. He slid the coat down his shoulders and looked over at Dean. He smiled and his eyes narrowed to slits.  

“Hello, Dean.”  

“Where’s Sammy? I need to go get him from school.”  

The man sat down at the small dining room table and crossed his legs. Dean shoved back the blankets and felt himself turning red. He was naked. His clothes were piled between the double beds and he picked up his underwear.  

“Where’s Sammy? We need to go get him,” Dean said.  

“You already picked up Sam,” the man in the trench coat said.  

“Where is he?” Dean asked. “Sammy?”  

Dean heard water running through the open door to the attached bathroom.

He pulled on his underwear and went toward the door.  

“Hey, Sam, hurry. I got to take a crap,” Dean said.  

Dean paused by the thick TV with rabbit ears on top and frowned. The water still ran, but he couldn’t hear any movement. He looked back at the man at the small dining table. He was watching quietly with his weird blue eyes.  

“Sam?” Dean called again as he went closer. “Cover up your dick, man, I’m coming in.”  

Dean gave him a minute then he went forward. He could taste his heart. He could feel the wallpaper beneath his palm as he slid it just beside the bathroom door.

There was water on the floor, on the linoleum. It followed over the plastic edge for the shower tub combo. Sam laid in the tub, staring at the wall with his mouth gapped. His eyes were filmed milky white over green. The deep water in the tub was black in the dim light.  

“Sam,” Dean said as he skidded in the water and slammed to his knees beside the tub, pulling Sam by his shoulders. “Sam, no. Come on. You’re okay. Sam,” he said, pushing back Sam’s long hair roughly. “Sammy. Sam, answer me!” he yelled, shaking him. “Sam!”  

Then it was gone. The bathroom was gone. Sam was gone and he laid in a bed warm bed with burning everywhere. The man in the coat was holding his shoulders, but he wasn’t wearing the coat anymore. He was touching Dean’s face softly.  

“Dean, wake up.”  

“Where’s Sam?”  

“I don’t know who that is. It’s just you,” Castiel said.  

“Where’s Sam? I want Sam,” he said and he felt water on his face. Castiel wiped tears from his cheeks. “Where’s Sam?” 

“I’m sorry, Dean. He isn’t here.”  Castiel gently laid Dean back down and Dean kept saying it while his eyes watered and he cried from pain on his shoulders and deep deep in his heart.  

“Sam,” he said, holding Castiel’s wrist. “Please. I just want Sam.”

“Go back to sleep, Dean,” Castiel said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some rough Irish in the chapter. 
> 
> 'Stad' is stop and 'titim' is drop. There is another word, but I'll refrain from defining that one for right now. It's less about the translation of it and more about what Dean is and his relationship to Castiel.

When Dean was aware again, it was night. The curtain was pulled away from the window and the bedroom glowed back in low orange light. He could see the armchair in the front of the fireplace perfectly, the foot of the bed, all of it was tack sharp.

He leaned up and felt wet cool suction against his back. He jerked and looked at the sheets.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, getting out of bed and looking down.

The sheets were spattered in blood and a layer of skin laid meat side up. He hardly flipped up the edge. Clammy blood tacked on the pads of his fingers and he pulled away. He ran a hand through his hand and stared at the mattress while his head pounded at the base.

Finally, he inhaled through his nose and twisted his arm behind his back to feel how much of his back was gone. He must be in shock, because he didn’t feel any pain, not even the burning anymore.

His fingers met something smooth and hard. He inched his hand higher and felt the break of the smooth, to another smooth layer.

“Son of a bitch,” he said quietly while tingling shot down his veins.

The reflection of light off glass caught his eye by the door and he went toward it with his knees feeling like they would come undone. A tall mirror hung on the wall, normally concealed by the open door. He turned his back to it and looked over his shoulder.

It was dark, but he could see a long sheet of black over his shoulders, stretching out to his ribs and tapering down at his tailbone, and covering the top of his ass cheeks. He took a step backwards and it felt like cotton were lining his throat. The scales caught the little bit of fire and they shimmered deep green. He raised his arm and looked at his sides where the scales wrapped around. Small scales, like the ones on a lizards side. He ran his fingers over them. They felt like sandpaper.

The skin over his chest was wrinkled and soggy looking, like it’d been left in water too long. Dean touched it carefully. It didn’t hurt. It felt weird, like touching him lower lip after being at the dentist, that one time their dad took him. He pinched at a large wrinkle and a flap pulled away.

“Shit,” Dean said, dropping the strip of his own skin.

Underneath, he could see darker skin. He swallowed hard and made himself reach up to pull at the rest. It came away in thin hunks. It only hurt at the edges, where the skin went from wrinkly to normal looking. Beneath it, a patch of dark green scales laid a few inches below his collarbone and stretched almost to either nipple before tapering down to the knot of his sternum.

Then he pulled away the wrinkled skin below his bellybutton. His happy trail came off with it and little scales trailed down to his pubic hair. The skin kept coming off to the middle of the mound above his dick, then it stopped.

Dean looked down at his skin on the ground and clenched his teeth. His clothes were piled on the on the floor by the bed. He yanked them on and went to his coat laid over the dresser. It had the same weight and when he reached into the interior, he found the silver blade. He took it out and went out of the bedroom.

“Castiel!” he yelled.

The vividness of blue gray light pulsed around Dean’s sensitive eyes from the window at the end of the hall. He walked slowly toward the stairs, watching all of the shadows.

“Castiel,” he yelled again, as he went down the steps, holding the banister.

The chandelier of candles was lit in the entryway the steps led onto. Dean slowed his pace, then Castiel was there, coming from a room to the right of the front door.

“Dean, you’re awake,” Castiel said, with his small quiet smile.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Dean asked, making his voice stay quiet, even if it wasn’t calm.

The smile slipped from Castiel’s face. “I didn’t kill you, which is what you came to my home in order to do to me.”

“You’re a fucking monster.”

“Said the hunter.”

“Stop with your fucking word games. What did you do?”

Castiel came forward until he touched the lowest part of the banister and squinted up into the dark at Dean. He looked at Dean’s chest, like he could see through his shirt, then he stepped back and looked up at the ceiling then he looked back the way he’d come.

“Come with me,” Castiel said, going through the archway.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Come or don’t,” Castiel said, with his voice trailing.

Dean squeezed the hilt of his knife, then followed Castiel. The archway led to a sitting area. Castiel was already going through another archway on the other side of the room. Dean walked faster. The next room was lit with a large fireplace and candles. A couch was set at an angle to the grate with a coffee table in front. It had a plate of meat and a cup of wine on it beside an open book.

Castiel skirted the edge of that room and went through another door. Then they were in the dark again or at least no fire. The walls were covered in windows and the moon was out, pouring blue light on the aged wood floor. Castiel walked to the end of the long room and turned back to Dean.

“Bring your accusations on me,” Castiel said.

“You-,” Dean said, taking a step forward and squeezing the knife.

“ _Stad_ ,” Castiel said.

It felt like Dean had dipped his feet in concrete. He couldn’t move a step forward. He jerked back and it felt like his foot has slipped free of whatever Castiel had done.

“Stop with your fucking voodoo!”

“Don't be insulting,” Castiel said.

“What the fuck have you done?” Dean yelled again.

“Tell me. What have I done?”

Dean looked at Castiel then tore his shirt over his head. Even in the piss pour light, he could see Castiel’s eyes. They went over his chest and he watched the knot of his throat when he swallowed. 

"This. What is this?" he yelled. 

He saw Castiel’s eyes narrow to slits. When he spoke, Dean hardly recognized his voice at all. 

“You thought you could look on me and nothing would happen?” Castiel asked. “You thought you could come into my home and nothing would happen? That I have lived ages and _you_ would be able to fail me with your pitiful blade?”

As Castiel talked, he unbuttoned his white shirt. Then he shrugged it from his shoulders. Where there was skin, it was washed out white. But there wasn’t much. Scales covered his chest, tapered down his stomach until disappearing into his jeans. A few patches laid on his upper arms like armor.

There was a stretching noise and Castiel’s shoulders rolled forward. Black wings rose from his back and came down. They sounded like rain falling when he flared them partially. The bottoms brushed the ground by his bare feet.

“What have you hunted? Werewolves?” Castiel asked, taking a step forward. “Vampires?” he said and took another step forward. “Ghosts? Fairies? Ghouls? Demons?”

Now Castiel was near him.

“I had been on the earth millennium before I heard the name Lucifer. Before his vagrants stepped foot on any land. Angels, demons, they tremble to hear the unfolding of leather wings, but not hunters. Not hunters, because you are foolish beyond measure.

“ _Titim_ ,” Castiel said quietly.

The knife dropped from Dean’s hand and clattered on the weathered wood. His heart was pounding in his throat, he could hear it so loudly. Now he was close enough to see the sharp points on Castiel’s teeth, more like a wolf than a snake, like he expected.

“Thank my god that you’ve met me in my old age,” Castiel said low. “That I have patience for foolishness. That now I give hunters drink that will wipe their tender minds instead of tearing their insides from their stomachs.”

“It didn’t wipe my memory,” Dean said as angrily as he could. He was even willing to admit it came out weak.

“Clearly. Then I should have known _Dean Winchester_ would catch even my god’s attention.”  

Dean clenched his teeth, “Are you turning me into one of you?”

Castiel laughed. Dean squeezed his empty fist at the heartfelt sound of it.

“You’re no more a dragon, than a garden lizard,” Castiel said, then he reached out his hand and grazed the scales on his chest. “You wear our half armor. You see my sight, but you are a hunter who is no longer a man. You are a hunter, who now has no friends, who will be cast out by any who meets him. But you are no dragon.”

“Fuck you. No. Change me back!”

“I didn’t change you in the first place and I’m sure my god has no wish to listen to you whine.”

“Don’t play these fucking mind games, Castiel!”

Castiel’s wings began to grow smaller and he bent down to pick up Dean’s blade. It melted in his hand and dripped onto the floor.

“Welcome home, _cara,_ because you have no other place to go,” Castiel said. 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel left Dean in the glass room and Dean stared at the floor. He was still pissed, but it didn’t feel like he could really move, like he could talk. It was just a bumping against him under a layer of something like Novocain.

When he heard Castiel leave, the numbness seemed to wear off, he felt angry all over instead of it being muffled. He walked back into the living area, where he’d seen the book and food and found Castiel eating and reading.

“I’m not staying here,” Dean said.

“No one is forcing you, but the best of luck hiding your eyes and your body.”  

“What about my eyes?”

“You’re not the most perceptive man,” Castiel said, turning a page.

Frustration welled up in Dean’s throat and he clenched his fist. Knowing he probably couldn’t hurt Castiel was ungodly infuriating.

“Then I’ll wear glasses,” Dean said, going to leave the room.

“And when you develop a taste for raw meat, I’m sure that will catch no one’s attention. I’m sure your hunters will meet you with open arms. And humans? They are such compassionate creatures. I’m sure there will be no judgment at all.” 

 “I’ll get rid of it.”

“So you will call your friend, Bobby I assume, and you will bring another of your problems to his feet. Although in his words this was deemed a “death wish”.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you have gone to your friends again and again. That you place yourself in danger when you’re in emotional duress. That you’re impetuous beyond belief.”

Dean stared at Castiel as Castiel continued to read. Everything he wanted to say was going to come out childish, he knew it was and he couldn’t make himself do it.

“If you’d like to use the phone you know where to find it,” Castiel said.

Dean gritted his teeth and went back through the sitting room, then the entryway and found the kitchen again. He flipped on the light switch and the overhead florescent lights came on. He flinched away and ground his heels into his closed eyes.

He fumbled with the wall until finding the switch and hitting it off. When they were off, he carefully opened his eyes again. His eyes still pulsed around the edges and a headache was starting in the front of his head. He went to the counter and dialed Bobby’s number, facing the door to watch for Castiel.

“You’re still there. Are you kidding me, Dean?” Bobby answered. “Did you kill it yet?”

“Not quite,” Dean said.

“What the hell are you doing then?”

“Bobby, I need-,” Dean said.

Dean closed his hands around the smooth curve of the countertop behind him. He’d made this call so many times. Bobby had picked up every time and more often than not Dean was praying his could pull his ass out of the fire like he’d always done. He closed his eyes and squeezed harder.

“I think you don’t need to worry. I’ve got it handled,” Dean said.

“Dean-.”

“I’ll take care of it. Talk you later, Bobby,” then Dean hung up as Bobby started to argue.

Dean laid the phone on the counter and went back through the hall and up the stairs. His room was quiet and cold. He piled wood in the grate and the softer firelight flared. It eased his headache and the numbness he’d felt for the last few months settled heavily.

He’d wanted something to change, he’d gotten it. He wanted to hunt down a dragon, he did. It hadn’t helped anything and he wished he could care, but he felt nothing, nothing but the deep hurt back behind the scales on his chest.

All he could hear was picking up the phone and calling Sam, telling him what was wrong, asking for his help. Then the lap of cold water matting his jeans to his knees as he kneeled on bathroom linoleum.

***

Hours later, Dean heard Castiel’s footsteps on the hallway. He stood up from where he sat in front of the fireplace and opened his bedroom door. The library door was open and light came out. He swallowed hard and went to the door.

Castiel was on the long couch Dean had first seen his wings on. Now he didn’t have his wings out and read. He glanced up and his pupils narrowed.

“Dean,” Castiel said.

“If I ask you some questions could you not feed me a line of bullshit?” Dean asked.

“If you can ease your aggressive front.”

“You have turned me into a fucking lizard.”

Castiel opened his book again.

“Okay. Fine,” Dean said, coming in and sitting opposite Castiel in an armchair.

Castiel closed his book and laid it to the side. The fabric looked like something Dean’s great-grandma would’ve liked, but never could’ve afforded. Then Castiel just looked at Dean.

“Tell me what’s happening,” Dean cleared his throat. “Please.”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Goddamn it,” Dean said harshly.

Castiel raised his brow.

Dean put his head in his hands and groaned. “Could you be a little clearer?”

“I can’t understand when you mumble.”

“Well I can’t understand anything out of you.”

“Dean, please don’t try my patience. The fact that you brought a knife into my home has already chaffed me severely.”

“Like it was even a problem for you,” Dean said.

“It’s the principle. You voided the roles of hospitality and I hold those dearly.”

“I think making me sprout scales kind of voided it too, Cas,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had pure intentions.”

Dean groaned through his teeth and threw down his hands before sitting up. He stared at Castiel and gritted his teeth before getting his breathing under control again.

“I’m begging you, just give me a straight fucking answer. What’s going on?”

Castiel nodded slightly before lacing his hands over his crossed knee. “The food I gave you the first evening was meant to take away your memories. When you woke, you weren’t supposed to remember that you were hunting for anything, that there were even creatures meant to hunt. You would have gone to a small city in Iowa and found a job, a family, and lived a quiet pleasant life. This is what I’ve done to hunters for the last fifty years.”

“Why didn’t that happen?”

“My god took an interest in you. Instead of taking your memory, he blessed you.”

Dean laughed and flicked at the scales on his chest. “Dude’s got a weird fucking sense of humor.”

Castiel’s eyes glinted. “Be respectful.”

“Sorry if my gratitude’s running a little low,” Dean said. “I look like a fucking iguana.”

Castiel smiled slightly and the dangerous look in his face eased. “If it’s any consolation, it would have to be a very handsome iguana.”

“Yeah, doesn’t really help,” Dean said and rubbed his temples. “So what is this like a skin condition or something?”

Castiel laughed quietly. “Hardly. You’ve been blessed to a _cara_. You’ll have a fraction of our scales, the clear eyesight, a need for the same diet, and a few of our other cultural and biological needs. Otherwise you’ll still be the same man you’ve always been.”

“So other than all the shit that makes me human, I’ll be perfectly human. What a relief.”

“You’ll grow used to it,” Castiel said, picking up his book again.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Castiel glanced up from the pages. “This isn’t something you can absorb in a conversation. There’s nothing you can do to rid yourself of it. I can see the rage over your face. If you need to ease that, there’s equipment in the basement to tire yourself. The door is through the kitchen.”

“Castiel-,” Dean said irritably.

“I’m finished with this conversation, Dean,” Castiel said, turning a page.

Dean glared at Castiel for a few minutes with just the sound of the fire crackling. Castiel looked so calm, just reading his book and it made Dean want to choke him to death on it. Before he could try to act on it, Dean stood up and left.

He didn’t see Castiel look up from his book and look at his bare back with his eyes going soft. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets more answers through Castiel's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Castiel tells Dean is kind of long, but it's relevant. 
> 
> More Irish in this chapter. The definitions will be at the end.

Dean went and sulked in his room after he talked to Castiel. Then he went to the basement, because he couldn’t think of anything better to do. It didn’t surprise him that it was dark or musky, but it did surprise him how old everything felt. The stone stairs that spiraled downward were narrow and thick, like something out of “Young Frankenstein”.

When he reached the bottom of the steps there was a blue light around the walls, like emergency lights. Dean flipped the light switch, already flinching, but only new soft light came from the base of the walls. It was kind of like a movie theater when they were letting people get seated. It was really all he needed to see the room vividly. 

The room was about double the size of any motel room Dean had stayed in. There was a punching bag hanging from a wooden beam running down the middle of the ceiling. To one side, a boxing ring was set up. 

Dean ran his hand over the worn floor of the raised boxing ring and saw were it was worn toward the center. Dark splotches were littered around on the gray-white floor. A big chest sat against the base of the ring. Dean flipped open the top and kneeled down to go through the equipment. There were boxing gloves from all different years, only one pair that looked like it could pass any kind of modern safety requirements. There were a few mouth guards and headgear he recognized from when Sam wrestled in high school.

All of them were extremely worn, but he found a set that looked like they were in decent shape. On the inside of the right cuff he saw the initials _JR_ branded into the leather. He laced them up and went to the punching bag. It wasn’t something that could be bought at an outdoor store or anything. It was real worn leather with thick white stitching. He was willing to bet it was older than him.

He pulled back and hit it as hard as he could.

For the first few blows, he didn’t think about form or anything else his dad had trained into him. He just beat the hell out of it. It creaked on its chain and slowly, Dean started to settle into a rhythm. He pulled back and kept his hands close, cuffing out, more about speed and precision than strength. He only went harder when he realized his back felt more rigid and heavy from the scales.

“You have decent form.”

Dean stopped and caught the bag by habit. He drug the back of his arm over his forehead as he breathed hard. Castiel stood by the ring with one hand on the tar-stained ropes.

Dean grunted and started unlacing the gloves.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but dinner's ready if you’re hungry,” Castiel said.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. Then his stomach growled. 

“I don’t bite, Dean.”

Dean snorted and tossed the gloves into the wooden chest he’d taken them from. As he passed, he saw Castiel take the gloves and straighten them, tying them back together before running his thumb over the leather ties. He closed the lid and fastened the top in a way that made it look like he did it a lot, but Dean couldn’t get over the almost sweet way he did it.

He frowned at himself and started back up the stairs, flipping off the lights. A few moments later, he heard Castiel’s footsteps behind him.

When Dean stepped into the kitchen from the basement doorway, Castiel stepped passed him hardly touching his shoulder.

“We’ll eat in the dining room,” Castiel said.

“Whatever.”

Dean followed Castiel through an archway and down a short hallway to a pretty well lit room. Well, a well lit room for Castiel’s house, which meant there was a fire going and another of the big candle-holding chandeliers above a long wooden table. Silver plates were set on the reclaimed looking wood with more of the goblet-looking glasses.

Castiel took the place setting at the head, nearest the fire. Dean stopped at the doorway. There was heap of wrinkled gray skin by the hearth. It looked up with saggy red eyes when Dean walked in.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked. 

Castiel looked and laughed slightly. "Declan." 

The dog wagged its stubbed tail when Castiel said its name. Dean frowned for a second before sitting to Castiel’s right, at the only other place set at the table.

“Did you kill that?” Dean asked, glancing at the bear rug laying in front of the fire.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Goddamn,” Dean said.

He saw Castiel smile slightly into the rim of his goblet. He frowned at himself. That sounded too much like a compliment and Castiel and had obviously taken it that way. Arrogant bastard.

“The boar's medium rare. I hope you don’t mind,” Castiel said, leaning forward to cut into the large chunk of meat on a tray.

Dean shrugged.

“When your taste refine everything will be rare,” Castiel said, putting a slab of the meat on Dean’s plate. Red liquid drained from it to the bottom of the plate. His mouth watered.

Dean put mashed potatoes on his own plate and a weirdly reddish black gravy.

“Easy with that,” Castiel said, looking at the sauce.

“Is it some type of dragon shit?” Dean asked, almost dropping the spoon.

“Why would I defecate in a sauce?”

Dean shook his head, “So fucking dense,” he said under his breath.

“Are you always so vulgar?”

“Sorry, didn’t realize dragons had such high morals,” Dean said, cutting into the boar and watching it turn the potatoes pink.

A little bit of the sauce had dropped on the meat before he’d put it back in the bowl. He wiped it off with his spoon then bit into it. His stomach growled loudly as the cool metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Spit puddled under his mouth and a full body shot when down his spine.

He could taste that sinewy flavor he used to hate when Bobby cooked deer. That gamy flavor that made it clear he wasn’t eating some fat cow that had been raised up just to be ate. Now he could taste the dirt of that flavor, the grass, the sweaty earthy flavor of real meat.

As he chewed, he’d dropped his head into his hand. He glanced up when he smelled something like pennies. Castiel had cut a slab of meat from the other side of the boar and it was dripping with blood. His mouth flooded and the gray edges of his own piece looked like leather. He clenched his fork and felt something weird bubbling in the back of his throat.

“Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean glanced up. A bead of sweat fell from his brow and he wiped it away.

“Do you want a piece like that?” Castiel asked.

Dean squeezed his fork harder. He wished he could say no. He really fucking wished he could, because he didn’t like asking this guy for anything. He hated it so much, but he couldn’t help it. He nodded and felt no better than the dog.

“Give yours to Declan,” Castiel said.

Dean pieced up the steak from his plate and looked at the hill of dog by the fire. It lumbered up, like a wave of wrinkles and came to him. He held to the meat and the dog took it in sloppy mouthfuls with drool falling from its loose jowls.

“His ancestors fought with the Romans against the Britons. Now he does good to beg for scraps,” Castiel said, petting the dog’s cropped gray ear.

Dean grunted then felt the impact of a large chunk of meat hitting his plate. He didn’t even pick up a fork. Blood ran down his fingers as he picked up the steak and bit into it. The meat was tough, but it didn’t really matter. It was falling apart like butter. The juice ran down his chin and neck, but he couldn’t help it. It felt like he was starving. When he finished the first piece, there was already another on his plate.

It was so underdone it was cool and purple, but it just made it better. Then he felt a sharp sting in his thumb and tasted warm blood. He pulled back and stared at his own thumb. The pad had a puncture, almost through to the nail.

“Your teeth,” Castiel said, raising his own lip and gesturing to a thick pointed canine. “Be careful. They’re sharp.”

Dean pulled back his own lip and felt his teeth. Most of them felt the same, but the canines felt how Castiel’s looked, thick and sharp.

He dropped the half steak onto his plate and scooted his chair back as he touched both of his canines.

“Dean, you’re fine. This is normal,” Castiel said.

“This is not fucking normal,” Dean yelled.

When he yelled he felt the tacking blood around his mouth and down his neck. He grabbed a cloth napkin and poured water on it from one of the cups and scrubbed at his skin.

“How many people have you done this to?” Dean asked, throwing the napkin onto his plate. “Huh? Is this what you fucking do?”

“I’ve already told you I had no part in this.”

“How many people has this happened to in your house?” Dean demanded.

Castiel’s dog growled by Castiel’s feet. Castiel spoke quietly in his weird language and petted the dog between its ears. Castiel was quiet long enough that Dean was about to leave. A cold sweat was breaking out and he felt like he was losing his shit. This back and forth was driving him insane, he could feel it like a string that already wasn’t very strong.

“This has only happened once for me. I have known many others,” Castiel said, finally looking back up from the dog. “He had the same temper as you, worse even.”

“Where’s this poor bastard then? Did you get sick of him? Eat him?”

“He died.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No I did not.”

Castiel only looked at him and Dean felt like he was going to scream. He dropped his elbows on the tabletop and pulled at his short hair with an almost scream coming out.

“Castiel, man, I’m fucking begging you. I’m sitting here eating raw meat. I just spouted scales. I feel like Jesus slapped me when a light comes on. I can’t do this. Just tell me. Just tell me about this guy, something.”

“That isn’t a story for now.”

Dean looked up and he felt his eyes watering. He actually felt himself starting to water up and that was just making it so much worse.

“I’m begging, Cas,” Dean said.

“I don’t believe it will make you feel better. His creation was… turbulent.”

“Then maybe it’ll help to know someone had it worse.”

Castiel frowned, then nodded. “If you insist. I would like to continue this in the living area.”

Dean started to argue, but then he smelled the meat and his stomach jerked. He pushed back from the table and followed Castiel and his dog from the room. They wound through the labyrinth of halls until ending up in the living area Dean had seen earlier or yesterday. He didn’t know, time was getting wonky.

“Have a seat,” Castiel said.

Dean sat at the end of the long couch and regretted it when Castiel sat at the other end. Castiel took a drink from his goblet again before adjusting in his seat, so that his back was against the arm and his body was turned toward Dean.

“Before I begin, I’d like you to understand that I was younger when this happened and John was much more headstrong than yourself, as hard as that may be to believe.”

“Noted.”

Castiel nodded. “In the mid 1890’s I was living in New York. This was during the height of Irish immigration and I was rather fresh from the Republic. An advantage of living centuries is I can blend into societies.”

Dean snorted and looked around the room, at the animals skins on the floor and the rustic old world feel of it all. “Yeah, real seamless.”

“When I choose to,” Castiel said. “In my home in the middle of nowhere, I live how I like and this is how I like. As I said, I blended. No one knew I was of Irish decent. I had British papers and I had an English way of speaking. I had money and during the time, I was a very affluent man. However, like any time that I have lived more lavishly I attracted attention. The majority of the time it’s nothing. It’s poorly equipped, young, foolish hunters who have more pride and arrogance than skill.”

Dean shifted and looked away from Castiel. If Castiel noticed he didn’t say anything.

“John Reed was the same breed of hunter. He was young, arrogant, and beyond foolish. However, he had a degree of skill. We were playing a game of cat and mouse over the city that he was unaware I knew of. That was my flaw. Vanity is always my kind’s flaw, but this was one of the only times it has been a detriment to me. I didn’t value him as an adversary. As a result, he caught me in one of my store buildings. He shot me with a pistol in my chest. It took a few of my scales and did little more than enrage me.

“I saw the fear in his eyes when he realized what he’d done, what he had angered. I called down my god on him. I was so angry my god listened. He heard my curse and I watched as John fell to the ground and his skin produced heat waves in the cold. His clothes burned away and he screamed. He was such a proud man, but he fell on his hands and knees and screamed as his skin dripped from his body.

“When it was finished, he was covered in scales the color of deep red wine. What I did there's little excuse for. I had bloodlust and that’s all that can be said. I took him physically for what he’d done. His skin was still so hot it burned my hands when I held him down. He had no energy to fight me, but bless him, he tried.”

Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. For someone describing raping someone there was a weird look in Castiel’s eyes. If Dean didn’t know better he’d say it was guilt mixed with a metric shit-ton of love. Even with Castiel’s pupils narrowed to slits the emotion coming out of them was so human it took him back.

“John had much the realization that you did. He realized he couldn’t go to the arms of his hunter friends, his family. Then all of those things were on the other side of the Atlantic for him. Instead, he left New York with me. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for him, but that’s what he did. We fought. We fought viciously those first few weeks as we made our way to the South.”

Then Castiel looked at Dean for the first time in a while. The firelight shined on his blue eyes and they looked so sincere with the pupil blown up to human size again.

“Dean, I’m going to tell you the rest how it happened, but I don’t want you to become uncomfortable,” Castiel said.

“Already told me you raped a hunter that shot you. Don’t think I can get much more uncomfortable,” Dean said.

“Then it’s a good thing you never made a blow with your knife, aye?” Castiel asked with a small laugh.

It was some dark humor, but Dean couldn’t help a little laugh. It helped to laugh, even if his ass might literally be the joke.

“Guess so.”

“As I was saying, John and I went South. Of course then it went slowly. That part of the country was still under reconstruction from the Civil War. It was still bleeding and you could see it on the land and the people. It was a devastated kind of beauty, going through towns that had been abandoned, plantations that were left empty.

“It meant that John and I spent many days at a time without only each other. His temper was volatile. We could have breakfast amiably enough then he would have me on the ground from my horse’s back by lunch. How one of us didn’t kill the other I’ll never know.

“Then around Macon, the seasons clearly began to change. The last of the leaves were falling from the trees and I felt myself growing restless. I felt him watching me when I bathed. I watched him and his scales became hypnotic. They were the most beautiful shade of purple and red. They conformed to his shape so perfectly.

“I hit my season on an old plantation porch overlooking a cypress grove. I was determined to leave him alone and see myself through, but he instigated. From them he was my _milis cara_.”

“Eh, wait a minute,” Dean said, holding up his hand. “I’m not going to be your whore, man.”

Castiel shook his head. “I never said you had to be. This is what I meant about being uncomfortable. Mine and John’s relationship is common for _cara_ and _scála_ , but there are platonic bonds. My only intention in telling you this is to show, I am not supposed to be your enemy. My god didn’t touch you to make us enemies. Forgive my presumptions but I see the same things in you that I saw in John. He didn’t come to me in a right state of mind. He was slipping substantially. Him coming to me was suicide and he knew that. He had nothing left. It wasn’t until we became close that I learned he had lost his family to the famine only months before. He was no more than a boy and he was lost.”

“I’ve got people,” Dean said angrily.

“I never said you didn’t,” Castiel said with his blue eyes earnest. “But no one comes to a dragon with a knife and expects to walk away, _mo cara._ ”

Dean swallowed heavily and sat back. Then he leaned forward again and took Castiel’s glass, downing the contents. The wine was stout, but it felt good burning its way through him as he leaned back again.

“So what happened to John?”

“We had many years together. I have only had three great loves in my centuries and he was one of them. I adored him and when he allowed himself, he loved me dearly. He died decades later in a bar fight with an Englishman, who had said a slur. He shot John in his throat and I held him while he choked to death on his own blood.”

Castiel’s eyes had narrowed again. The sadness was so stark it pinched Dean’s chest, but there was some deep anger there too that made him a little afraid.

“Did you get the guy who did it?” Dean asked.

“I killed him and burned his home,” Castiel said.

“Fuck. Remind me not to cross you.”

“If you need any other reasons not to cross me you may be very dumb. What did you say? You’ve already been turned into an _iguana_?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed quietly and leaned forward, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “So let me get this right, your god picks people that are down and out, and he makes them outcast to be your friends?”

Castiel thought for a moment and nodded. “That explanation does. Although I think it should be said that a strong will is needed. If you’d had no wish to continue in your life, no want for a different way to live, I believe the memory drink would have worked on you.”

“Yeah. What else?” Dean asked slightly sarcastically to keep from commenting on that.

“Only know that I’m sorry for whatever has brought you here, but I’m not sorry that you are here, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t take the sincerity in those pretty blue eyes. He had that puppy dog look down and it clawed at his chest savagely. The little pep talk didn’t help either. It just reminded him of something that would come out of Sam’s mouth.

Dean stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Good story time, Cas. I think I’m going to hit the sack.”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah. You too,” Dean said as he worked his way back to the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> milis cara - sweet friend is the literal translation. In this story it means a cara that has a sexual relationship with a dragon. 
> 
> mo cara - my friend. The literal translation actually works here. 
> 
> Scala - scale. In this story it's referring to Castiel's breed of Irish born dragons.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Castiel POV chapter. This is more of Castiel's history that will give insight into his culture and things that will happen between he and Dean. Plus, Dean obviously isn't into talking about himself and this Castiel is just vain enough to like talking about himself (And there are some other reasons Cas is dwelling on his past lovers so much ;) ) The chapters will start picking up. There's a method to my madness. Promise. 
> 
> Oh and the wine, if you guys haven't picked up on this, it's some real potent shit.

Castiel watched as Dean walked out of the living room. A thin t-shirt covered his back. It clung to his back harshly at points, like it were caught on low profile stones.

As the shadows engulfed Dean, Castiel poured himself another glass of wine and looked at the fire. He didn’t see the flames. His eyes hazed as the bitterness of wine caught on his tongue. His inner lids dropped over his eyes and he felt his sight narrow and his body warm.

His sight defaulted and he pictured Dean so clearly, straddling his thighs as Castiel slid his hands beneath the thin material of his shirt. He could nearly feel the divots of his ribs as Dean stretched to remove his clothing.

Castiel imagined himself moving forward, kissing the skin edging Dean’s badging of scales over his heart. He could almost taste the salt and humidity of his human hide. Then he licked the edge and felt the harsh catch of Dean’s scales on his tongue.

Dean moaned and Castiel watched his full mouth part. Then he gripped Dean’s sides and turned him.

Dean rested backwards on his thighs as Castiel balanced him by his hips and Dean’s hands were planted on his knees. His back was a mosaic of black, emerald, and rich green curving to his thick sides.

The wine kicked Castiel more fully and the coloring changed. The body thinned, the hair darkened. Then Castiel ran his hands up wine-colored scaled and watched John shiver.

Castiel’s eyes humidified and his throat tightened, like he could breathe ice rather than fire. He touched John’s back softly, feeling the movement of his muscles along his spine. He had always been coarse, wiry enough to see the small rivets of his bones down his back, like perfectly formed tiny hills.

John turned and cupped Castiel’s cheek. His eyes were gray and framed by long lashes that were nothing short of mesmerizing.  His memory even contained the traces of freckles Castiel had nearly forgotten, the delicateness of them over John’s nose and beneath his eyes.

He smiled, his sweet, arrogant smile, showing his teeth elongated and thick, swelling his full lips.

“Cas,” John whispered.

Then he was gone and Castiel was left holding nothing while the burn of the wine tapered from his throat.

***

The next day, the sleet had tapered, but the world had frozen. The grass crackled and broke beneath Castiel’s boots and Declan’s heavy paws as they walked over the back of the yard, surveying the damage the storm had done.

The barn at the edge of the yard, before the expansive wheat field, was layered in ice. The roof line swayed from the weight of it. That it had lasted this long surprised Castiel, but he felt no particular rush to mend it. The house was already far too large. He needed no more spare space.

When Declan barked, Castiel looked over the field. Lis was walking up the path with her aged shoulders stooped and her gray hair only a shade darker than the snow surrounding her.

“Good morning,” Castiel said.

“Good morning,” Lis said, nodding and pulling her heavy fur coat tighter around her shoulders. “How is she?”

“She’s well. Missing your upkeep,” Castiel said with a small smile.

Lis spoke about the house and the way she looked it Castiel believed that she believed it were a living thing. Against the gray sky with its black sides, Castiel could see nothing living in it. It looked devoid. It looked aged and it looked hopeless. Even the ivy that clung to its sides had browned in the harsh weather and he found something comforting in that.

“I’m sure you made a mess of her,” Lis said, walking toward the back entrance.

“We have a visitor,” Castiel said walked with her.

“Oh?”

“If he asks for anything give it to him. He’s in fragile health,” Castiel said.

“Of course. Who is he?”

“A friend.”

“How long will he stay?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said as he pulled open the back door of the house for her.

It only took a moment of shadowing Lis to see the familiarity with the house she had. It was engrained and deep. Her family had been the keepers of it for generations, serving whoever owned the property. The owners had come and gone, but Lis’s family had remained throughout. As headstrong as she was to remain on the property, in an old cottage at the rear of the property, she was as stubborn to recognize anything unusual in Castiel.

For that he was very grateful. Her only reply when Castiel had warned her of his strange habits, she’d said, “If you think you’re the strangest I’ve served, you’d be very wrong, sir.”

***

When Dean finally appeared in the kitchen, it was passing toward noon and Castiel sat at the bar while Lis served nearly raw bacon and ham. Dean looked between her and Castiel for a moment, before Castiel noticed he was there.

“Dean, this is Lis. She keeps the house,” Castiel said. “Lis, this is our guest, Dean.”

Lis nodded to Dean as she piled more bacon on a plate. “And how do you take your meat, Dean?”

“That looks pretty good,” Dean said, taking a strip of the raw pork from Castiel’s plate.

If Castiel were younger, he would’ve had the very real urge to bite him. Instead, it felt more like humoring a young one. They would bite, pull tails, and steal food, but they were little and they knew no better.

“How did you sleep?” Castiel asked Dean.

Dean grunted and took a stool one down from Castiel.

The pale light through the windows was unkind to Dean. It made the area beneath his eyes gaunt and what little tan he had was nearly washed away. He looked very tired and he looked very sad. Castiel’s mind whirled with curiosity he could hardly sate any longer. But he would sate it. Privacy was given in his home, as little as he sometimes liked it.

“Do you have a car?” Dean asked.

“Of course.”

“If it doesn’t put you out, could you take me to get mine?” Dean asked.

“The one that was stuck?” Castiel asked.

He watched Dean’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink and smiled. When Dean saw he was joking, he gave him a one-handed gesture.

“It’s at the motel I was staying at,” Dean said.

“The roads will still be bad. We’ll bring it back on the trailer unless you wished to go somewhere,” Castiel said.

Dean stared at a plate Lis had set in front of him. Declan was by his feet, looking up at Dean, waiting for him to drop anything. Castiel tried not to watch Dean. He tried to impress how much freedom Dean truly had to leave if that’s what he wished.

Finally from the corner of his eye, he saw Dean shake his head.

“Nah. I don’t have anywhere to go,” Dean said.

Castiel kept his expressions to himself. While he thought it would make him happy, his heart sank at the resignation and forced ease of Dean’s tone.

“You’re welcome here as long as you like,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded without looking up from his plate. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel watched as Dean picked up another strip of bacon, so raw the fat had hardly been rendered. Dean chewed with his eyes blank and Castiel’s heart ached with sympathy.

***

After they ate, Castiel went with Dean to the garage. He watched as Dean walked around his black Silverado and whistled low with his hands low in his pockets. Castiel felt himself puffing at the compliment. Then Dean looked back at him with a smile.

“Got little dick syndrome, Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel snorted. “Excuse me?”

Dean patted the rear fender well that was lifted many inches above stock. “Just saying. Might be compensating for something. Pretty truck, though.”

“You’re very vulgar,” Castiel said, getting into the drive seat and closing the door on Dean’s laughter.

In repayment, Castiel had Dean get out in the cold and attach the trailor when Castiel had backed the truck from the garage. The town wasn’t far from Castiel’s home, but it was distant enough to feel secluded, the way he enjoyed. The roads were still iced and most people hadn’t ventured from their homes yet.

When they pulled up to the small, dingy motel Dean indicated, Dean all but bolted from the truck when Castiel parked next to a classic black car. He got out and heard Dean cooing to the vehicle much the same way he would catch Lis speaking to the counters or the fireplaces in his home.

“And I have a, what did you call it? _Little dick syndrome_ ,” Castiel asked, looking at the black car that was nothing short of a flashy phallus.

“Whatever, this’s American Muscle. The same rules don’t apply,” Dean said.

“They can’t apply. At least my vehicle serves a purpose.”

“Yeah I’m sure you need that lift kit all the time,” Dean said. Then he yanked open his door that was frozen closed and sat heavily inside. When he turned the key over the car roared to life with an exaggerated lope.

“Yes, that exhaust is entirely practical,” Castiel called.

“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Dean said, reeving the motor.

Castiel couldn’t help his small smile as Dean put the car into reverse then drove it onto the trailer. As they worked to secure it, Castiel could feel the cold biting deeply into his fingers, ears, and face. He loathed the cold somewhat severely, like most of his kind and their descendants. He could already feel the call of the warmth of his fireplace in the living area and warmed glass of ale.

When they were in the cab of his truck again, Dean cranked up the heater and put his hands in front of the vents.

“Jesus Christ it’s cold,” Dean said with his face red.

“I fear that’s a side effect of the change,” Castiel said. “You’ll handle the cold poorly.”

“Fucking fantastic. I didn’t handle it well in the first place,” Dean said, burrowing deeper into his own jacket.

Castiel glanced over and frowned at Dean’s clothing. He’d been wearing the same thing for two days now. It looked fairly clean, but it gnawed at him to have Dean reusing clothes. He didn’t have to. Not now. Castiel had the means to keep him clothed however he wanted for centuries. However, it was very cold and he doubted that Dean would allow him to take him to a specialty tailor for their kind any time soon. Still, he longed for it. His vanity yearned for it.

As they drove home, Dean continued to shift in his seat, pushing closer to the heater. Castiel still felt chilled, but Dean’s skin was beginning to tremble.

“Go to the living area,” Castiel said as he put the truck into park inside the garage.

Dean got out of the truck and left the door to the house open as he nearly ran inside. Castiel followed close behind, but made a diversion to find Lis first. He found her in the kitchen and asked her to bring heated food and drink to both of them before he went to find Dean.

Dean was on his knees in front of the fireplace in the living area, shoving logs into the grate. Sparks were catching on his hands and face, but he hardly seemed to notice.

“Your coat is wet,” Castiel said.

Dean stripped it off and Castiel took a heavy throw from the back of the couch and draped it over Dean’s shoulders. Dean gripped the edges and pulled it closer around himself.

“Feel like I’ve got hypothermia.”

“You’re cold-blooded,” Castiel said.

“Are you using that like a phrase?”

“What kind of phrase would that be?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head and looked back at the fire. His lips had turned a light shade of blue.

“Take off your jeans and sit on the hearth. It will help,” Castiel said.

Dean jerked up his head and looked at him. “I told you I’m not fucking around with you.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Cover your modesty. I didn’t ask you to bare yourself.”

“Pretty much.”

“No, not at all. How do snakes lay in cool weather, Dean? Or since it was something irrelevant to yourself have you never noticed?”

Dean glared at Castiel then moved his hands beneath the throw. “Look away.”

Castiel stood and heard Lis coming closer. He turned back to Dean and felt his eyes narrow.

“Let me be clear, if I wanted you, I could have you. Clearly, I don’t, so save us both the annoyance and quit acting like a virgin bride.”

Then Lis was in the room, setting a tray of food on the coffee table. She balanced a tray of hot soup and glasses of ale like it were nothing, when Castiel knew if he tried to handle the tray the same it would spill all over himself. It had happened more than once.

“Thank you,” Castiel said to her.

“Of course, sir. Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“No. You should go home before it gets dark,” Castiel said.

Lis nodded, “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Dean.”

“Night,” Dean said.

Castiel attempted to ignore his own trembling hands as he ladled soup from the large bowl into his own then another for Dean. Large cuts of meat bobbed like apples to the surface and the sauce was the deep red of arterial blood. Steam rose from it and Castiel’s mouth watered.

Castiel removed the large bowl then carefully carried the full tray back to the hearth. He thought of sitting on the couch, but that was far from the fire and if Dean were not here he would be laying naked on the stones beneath a blanket to stay warm. Dean tensed slightly when he came close, then seemed to be embarrassed and Castiel watched him force his shoulders to relax.

“Thanks,” Dean said without looking up as he took one of the bowls.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel said stiffly as he took his own.

They sat in a ridged silence that Castiel knew was not entirely unfair. He had told Dean he’d raped a hunter the night before, but it prickled him a disturbing amount. Not little of which was the guilt that still twisted in his heart. He could admit that he felt none of that guilt when he first took John. John had made it easy to feel he was justified in a sick way, with his vulgar mouth and defensive nature. But after the relationship they had had the memory made him sick and to have someone else’s judgment on top of his own was beyond what he could handle.

“The, uh, the rock helps,” Dean said eventually.

“Good.”

Castiel put his empty bowl to the side and leaned against the stones at the mouth of the grate. They radiated heat through his shirt and he groaned low in his throat as he closed his eyes.

It was only the crackling of the fire then the tinging of silver on wood began. At first, Castiel thought Dean was only scraping the remnants of his soup up, but then it persisted. He glanced over and frowned when he saw Dean tapping his spoon against the edge of his bowl.

“Do you want more?” Castiel asked.

“I’m good.”

Dean began tapping again.

“Then could you stop?”

Dean glanced up then looked down at his hands and put his bowl to the side. “Sorry. Don’t realize I’m doing it. Used to drive my brother crazy.”

“Would you tell me about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Whatever you’d like to say. I’d like to know where you come from.”

Dean shifted around and for a moment, Castiel didn’t think he would linger, but then Dean only readjusted the blanket again.

“There isn’t really a lot to say. My mom died when I was young. My dad raised me and brother hunting, so we moved around a lot.”

“Did you enjoy that?”

“What?”

“The moving, the hunting?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t really like the moving. We didn’t stay long to really get a footing. Sammy hated it a lot more than I did.”

Castiel nodded and tried to show no indication that he had heard Sam’s name before. Still, knowing that it was Dean’s brother satisfied many of the questions he'd had.

“Are you close with your father?”

“Used to be,” Dean said.

“And your brother?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about Sammy.” Then Dean picked up the bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. Castiel didn’t warn him against it. It hardly seemed worth it. “So what about you, Cas? Got family?”

“Of course, but I haven’t seen them in a very long time,” Castiel said.

“Are they dead?”

“Possibly. I’m sure some of my brothers and sisters are alive. My children most likely are as well.”

“You’ve got kids?” Dean asked.

Castiel laughed slightly, “I’m very old.”

“So you and some pretty girl dragon?” Dean asked with a loose smile as he took another drink of wine. “Your door swings both ways?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Dean laughed in a way Castiel was starting to realize was exasperation. “I mean you like being with girls and guys.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose. I prefer males. It’s more a matter of convenience, though.”

“What’d you mean?”

“Females are rare. They’re beautiful and beyond vain. Most males pair together and if a females takes interest then the genes in our pool grow. The majority of our females enjoy the attention of two partners and when the females grows restless after a handful of years, then the males still have each other.”

“So was it you and John that had kids?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. My first love.”

Dean smiled faintly with his head rested against the stones. His glass was nearly empty and Castiel found he enjoyed the look of his face, relaxed.

“You get a sappy look on your face when you talk about your guys. It’s kind of sweet.”

Castiel laughed slightly, looking down at his own hands. “We are streaked romantics.”

“So what about this guy?”

Castiel glanced at Dean. His eyes were relaxed and as much as he wanted to know more about Dean and his family, he understood the need for Dean not to speak out himself. John had been the same way for a very long time.

“When I reached my first age-,” Castiel said.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, taking another drink.

“Oh. I suppose it would be when you ejaculated the first time. For me it was when my mother noticed that my pupils had gone circular for the first time. I was thirteen summers or so.”

“So it’s like puberty.”

“Yes. When my kind reached puberty were sent to be mentored by older _scála._ If you were blessed then your mentor was kind. If you weren’t then they would only be bearable.”

“Yeah? And how was yours?”

Castiel smiled slightly. “He was wonderful.” 

_"_ You had the hots for your teacher," Dean laughed. 

“I was stunned by him. His name was Taymore and in his blessed form he was so gold he looked like the sun. The first time I saw him that way, we were outside of his home, it was my home then too from the time I went to him. He changed and my vision turned white for a moment. I fell in love with him there.”

“Damn, Cas, I was kidding about the crush.”

“Oh no. I was enamored. Every word from his mouth was treasure to me. I soaked it up like a sponge. His voice was a cadence I loved, telling our history, and making it sound like music. He taught me to hunt. He taught me how to use the currents in the air to be softest on my wings. He showed me how to care for myself. We became very close during the years between my first age and my second. He adored me.”

 “So he taught you dad stuff?”

Castiel frowned, “I wouldn’t compare him to my father.”

Dean laughed again, “Sorry. Go on. So you told him you had the hots for him and?”

“I didn’t have to tell him anything. A time after I had reached my second age, I was down at the stream behind his cottage, washing out clothes. He come behind me and showed me what it felt like to have my back touched then he made love to me on the bank.”

Castiel picked at a thread of his shirt as he thought of it. He could still remember the feel of Taymore above him, he could see his crimson wings spread and the sun shining through the membrane. He remembered the glitter of golden scales beading the bark of the trees and the water as Taymore moved and the soft caress of his teeth on his throat.  

“I mean, you make it sound sweet and all, but was that okay? Students and teachers screwing around?” Dean asked.

“After they came to their second age, yes. Many mentors and their students became lovers. Some only for a time. Others stayed for centuries. Understand, Dean, if Taymore had touched me inappropriately before my second age, he would have been mauled. At my second age, I was physically the same age as an early twenty year old. The only way I was truly innocent was being with another.”

“Then how were you two? The short or long time?”

“The night he made love to me, I slept in his nest with him,” Castiel glanced at Dean. “We don’t share our nest unless we love that person dearly. He used our words and he whispered how much he adored me, that he loved me more than his own heart, that my beauty outstripped his. I can still hear him saying it. I had never been happier. I have rarely been as happy as that moment.

“We stayed together, bonded together for over six centuries. There were hours that I could have killed him, but a day never passed that I didn’t love him dearly. Then he grew old and he took his age in his hands. He stayed years longer than he should have to be with me, to keep me from the pain of losing him. Then I gathered my courage one day when he couldn’t get out of our nest. He laid himself to rest and I never thought the sun would rise again.

“I was so shocked to see it come up the morning after. I hated that it was there. I hated that I was breathing while he was not. I felt like a child. I didn’t know what to do without him. Immediately I missed the way he said my name. I missed him saying that he loved me, that he adored me. It had been the last words from his lips. Then my heart shattered like crystal. I broke in a way that I didn’t ever think would be repaired. It still beats at a different rhythm than when I was young.”

Dean was quiet for a few moments then Castiel heard him whistle low.

“Damn.”

Castiel looked at Dean and saw him looking at him in a strange way. Castiel smiled softly.

“We do love, Dean,” Castiel said softly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Dean said. “Weird, being raised to think nothing but humans can feel those things.”

“We were taught the same of humans. I learned long ago your kind has a deep capacity for love,” Castiel said.

Dean looked at Castiel as the moments passed and Castiel didn’t look away. With the width of the grate between them it wasn’t entirely intense, but he could study the depth of green in Dean’s eyes. They were truly a beautiful color. Then Dean laughed slightly and picked up his wine glass, looking away.

“What the hell’s in here? Head’s already buzzing,” Dean said.

“Family recipe,” Castiel said with the same small laugh and letting the seriousness of it all fade. “I shared, now tell me the things you love.”

“I already talked about my family.”

Castiel shook his head. “The things, not the people. Music, art, literature.”

The wine went between them and Castiel listened as he found the topic of music that would make Dean speak. As he sat and listened, interjecting only enough to keep Dean speaking, he found he enjoyed the cadence of Dean’s voice as well. The rural-American-ness of it. His vulgarity and his honesty.

He found that he enjoyed it very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys like it or don't, I wouldn't mind hearing about it. ;) 
> 
> This fic should be finished up this week.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad jokes.

The next morning, Dean stood in the kitchen, looking outside. He had on his coat and it was still cold through the panes of glass. He didn’t even like coffee, but he drank a fresh made cup anyway with the steam still rising off it.

“Do you plan to stay very long?” the house keeper asked from where she was cooking at the stove.

“I don’t really know,” he said, turning back around and going to the bar. “Are you sure I can’t help you do anything?”

“I’m so in the habit of working by myself another person only gets in the way,” she said.

“I understand that,” he said. “So, how long have you been working for Cas?”

“Since he came here. Thirty years, give or take a few,” she said.

“Do you like doing it?”

“I do. He’s a very good employer.”

“Ignore her, she gives praise so she gets bonuses,” Castiel said, coming into the room from the hall. He squeezed Lis’s shoulder as he passed to go to the coffee press.

Dean laughed slightly. He didn’t know why, but he felt a flush of heat along his ears. Last night, they’d talked until Castiel said the sun was starting to rise. He hadn’t talked with someone like that since Benny in high school when they used to get high in the attic of Benny’s parents’ house, blowing the smoke through the dryer exhaust tube.

“How did you sleep, Dean?” Castiel asked, taking a drink of his coffee as he came to the island.

“Pretty good. That wine’ll knock you out,” he said.

“It is good for that,” Castiel said.

“You?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Castiel asked.

Dean felt himself getting hotter as he tripped over his words. “I mean, how’d you sleep?”

“Well. Thank you,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. He thanked all the gods he didn’t believe in that Lis picked that time to set out the food and he could shut up with food in his mouth. He glanced across the bar and watched Lis eat. She pecked at her food like a bird, tearing tiny pieces off a bagel. She threw away half of it then fluttered out of the room. Dean didn’t like the way she moved. It all looked like slow motion, but jerky, like a skipping video.   

Castiel stood and took his dishes to the sink. Water ran over them, then he turned around and dried his hands on a rag. He looked at the floor for a moment with his eyes distant before looking up at Dean.

“Would you like to go somewhere?”

“Sure. Do you need to go to town or something?” Dean asked, eating his last strip of almost raw bacon. It was so gelatinous he was glad for the sharp canines to break it down.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be? Anywhere you’d like to go?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “I’m covered and scales and have teeth like Ole Yeller. My schedules wide open.”

Castiel laughed, but it sounded sad as he looked at Dean. It was the same kind of look he’d given Dean last night, the kind that made him a little bit uncomfortable. Then again, a lot of stuff about Castiel made him uncomfortable. Like how he didn’t seem to just look at someone. He seemed to _really_ look at them.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Castiel said and he left the room.

Dean tapped his fingers on the counter and spun on the stool, to one side, then the other. It grated back and forth and he glanced back at the door a few times. Then he started spinning all the way around. The wall of windows flashed by, cabinets, fridge, stove, door, over and over, window, cabinets, fridge, stove, door. Then the other way, door, stove, fridge, cabinets, window-. Castiel. Dean grabbed the counter and stopped, his head swimming as he tried to get his balance again. He heard Castiel’s quiet laugh as he walked into the room with a phone in his hand.

“I’m glad you can entertain yourself so easily,” Castiel said.

“The new eyesight’s kind of awesome,” Dean said.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Everything’s so much clearer. Even when I’m spinning around like that.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel said. “If you still want to come with me, get whatever you’ll need. The rest can be taken care of.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you,” Castiel said.

He said it weird. It was a mixture of firmness and something else. It took Dean a second to realize Castiel was trying to tease him or something.

“Fine, twist my arm. I like surprises,” Dean said.

“Somehow I believed you would. Meet me in the foyer in ten minutes,” Castiel said.

Dean hopped off his stool and the unbalance swam up on him again. The floor swayed like it wanted to meet his face then Castiel’s hand was on his upper shoulder. He laughed again and Dean could feel the vibration of his voice on the air, on his skin.

It was weird, but before he could ask about it, Castiel was gone.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was in the passenger side of Castiel’s truck. They were driving down a frozen dirt road with the mud tires falling into craters or sliding toward the ditches. He was getting stressed just riding. Castiel didn’t seem to be fazed though.

“Does it get this bad a lot here?” Dean asked.

“The roads? Yes.”

“That blows.”

“Blows?”

Castiel looked at Dean and Dean looked back.

“What?” Dean asked.

“What blows?”

It took a minute for Dean to realize what made Castiel look so confused then he laughed.

“Man, Cas you gotta get out more,” Dean said, looking out of the windows at the ice clinging to the tree limbs and fields.

“I leave my house plenty,” Castiel said.

“Then you need more friends.”

“One is plenty,” Castiel said.

Dean felt the heat along the edges of his ears again, which he didn’t get. It was like embarrassment, but he didn’t feel embarrassed, not really. It was kind of weird for Castiel to be calling him his friend, but the guy clearly didn’t make many of those and after last night, Dean felt warm enough toward him not to correct it, but still.

They drove with the radio on a classic rock station. Dean was just about to ask where they were going until he saw the low tower standing out on a field and a few other buildings. Castiel turned into the driveway and Dean frowned.

“An airport?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“You own an airport?”

“I share rights with a woman who made her money in oil, but yes, it is mine.”

“Jesus.”

Castiel drove through a set of automated chain-link gates then they passed a hanger, to an airstrip. A small plane sat alone on the tarmac with its lights already pulsing against the gray sky. Dean felt his heart starting to beat harder as his stomach dropped.

“Hey, uh, Cas,” he said as Castiel went to get out of the truck.

“Yes?” Castiel asked. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Yeah. Fine,” Dean said, shoving his door open and getting out.

A man was standing at the foot of the stairs to the plane. He nodded to Castiel.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Novak,” the man said.

Castiel nodded and Dean followed him up the steps, with his hands shoved into his pockets. The interior of the plane was all tan and white. It didn’t look like the commercial plane Dean had been on. It only had a handful of leather seats and they were angled toward each other on the sides instead of in rows.

A stewardess talked to Castiel, but Dean was staring out of the windows the sky. It wasn’t storming anymore, but it was still overcast.

“You aren’t supposed to fly in storms are you?” Dean asked, feeling like he might puke.

“It’s only a light covering. We’ll be above it,” Castiel said, taking a seat along the window.

Dean sat across from him and stared over the long white stretch of the wing.

“Are you okay?” Castiel said.

“Fine,” Dean said.

“Are you afraid of flying?”

Dean glanced toward Castiel. “If people were supposed to fly, we’d have wings.”

Castiel laughed. Then the stewardess was back, sitting two glasses in front of them. “Could you bring a glass of wine and a valium, please?” he asked her.

“Of course, Mr. Novak,” she said.

The woman was only gone for a minute before she was back, putting wine on the table between Dean and Castiel and a small pill. Castiel pushed both toward Dean.

“The pilot asked for you to put on your seatbelts,” she said.

“Of course,” Castiel said.

“Can I do anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Thank you,” he said.

Dean picked up the pill and popped it, draining the wine on top of it as the woman walked away, leaving him and Castiel alone. He shook his head against the bitterness of the warm red wine. Then he gestured toward where the stewardess had disappeared.

“What the fuck do you do?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, taking a small drink from his own glass.

“To afford all this shit.”

“I’ve done many things. At the moment, I’m retired.”

“For what?”

Then Dean heard engine winding up and he felt the blood draining out of his face as he gripped the arms of his chair.

“It will all be over soon,” Castiel said.

His voice was almost drowned out by the drone of the motors then the plane started to roll. Dean nodded jerkily. His breathing was getting irregular. His heart beat was speeding up. He could taste bile at the back of his throat, feel it burning his nose.

“Dean,” Castiel said, then he touched Dean’s chin, angling his face up. He had leaned forward and his face was only a few inches from Dean’s. His eyes were so blue. So so blue. Like water, like moving deep water. “Can I?”

Dean nodded. Not knowing what he was nodding to. He felt hazy and panicky. He was either going to puke or pass out and he wasn’t sure which.

Castiel took Dean’s hand. He moved slowly, looking right at Dean then he bit the pad of Dean’s thumb with one of his sharp canines. Dean watched blood well around Castiel’s enamel then felt the warmth around the pain. Then Castiel pulled away.

He wiped his mouth and Dean sank back against the chair. His neck felt limp.

“Feels like indigestion,” Dean said with his eyelids dragging.

“Don’t fight it,” Castiel said.

“Why don’t I care?” Dean asked feeling his body going numb, staring with his brain. The same feeling he’d had those first nights. “Why’d you keep doing to not make me care?”

“Often you care too much,” Castiel said.

Then Castiel undid his seatbelt and stood. He went to Dean and tilted his head to look out of the window. They were above the clouds now. It looked like they were floating on them and the sun had turned them into a sea of Red Hots and cotton.

“Things can be so beautiful when you allow yourself to see it,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean realized he should’ve been pulling away. Castiel was so close, he could feel his breath on his ear, but it felt like he was in warm pudding, so thick and warm. Before Dean could say anything, Castiel grazed his cheek with his thumb and moved away.

Unlike the other times, he didn’t feel particularly tired. He felt sleepy maybe, but not tired. He felt calm. Music began to play through the cabin, soft instrumental. Then Castiel was back with a mug of tea. Or Dean thought it was tea since a tag was overhanging the edge.

“The chair reclines,” Castiel said, sitting back across from Dean then he pulled a small table down from the wall between them.

Dean reached down beside the chair and pulled up the foot. He leaned back and groaned.

“A guy could get used to this.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, Dean?” Castiel asked with a slight smile.

Dean laughed. “Look at you making jokes.”

“I often make jokes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me one.”

“A joke?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Come on.”

Castiel took a drink of his tea and set it on the table between them. “Okay. I can only remember one off the top of my head.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“A man walks into a pub and asks the barkeeper, ‘if I show you a wonderful trick, will you give me a free drink?’. It’s a slow night and the barkeeper is bored, so he agrees. The man pulls a rat from one pocket and a tiny piano from another. He sets both on the bar and the rat cracks its knuckles before beginning to play beautiful delta blues.

“After the man finished his drink, he asks the barkeeper, ‘if I show you an even more amazing trick, can I drink this evening for free?’. The barkeeper agrees, not believing that anything could be more wonderful than what he’s already seen. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny rat. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a tiny piano. The rat stretches, pops his knuckles, then begins to play the blues. The man reaches into another pocket and pulls out a bullfrog that begins to sing accompaniment with the rat.

“While the man is enjoying his free drinks, a strange comes and offers him $500 for the bullfrog. The man refuses. ‘Sorry, he isn’t for sale’. The stranger offers him $600. The man refuses again. ‘No. He’s not for sale’. $900 the stranger offers, his final offer. The man agrees and hands over the bullfrog.

“’Are you insane?’ the barkeeper asks. ‘You could have made millions with that bullfrog.

“’Don’t worry about it,’ the man said. ‘The bullfrog was nothing special. The rat is a ventriloquist.’”

Dean laughed and Castiel smiled small. “Man, you’re fucking random. So a romantic and a comedian, huh?”

“It was one of John’s. God only knows where he heard it.”

“It’s a good one.”

“It was a favorite,” Castiel said, taking another drink of his tea.

They were quiet and Dean could hear the humming of the engines. It was kind of a lulling noise, like low static. He could feel the quiet vibrations of it through his seat. Then he laughed slightly, looking out of the window.

“Hm?” Casitel asked, glancing up from a book he’d taken from his bag.

“Nothing,” Dean said, smiling to himself. Then he shook his head. “What do a dildo and tofu have in common?”

Castiel laughed quietly. “I don’t know.”

“They’re both meat substitutes.”

Castiel laughed again. “Effective.”

Dean smiled. “My little brother came home with that one in middle school. I snorted milk across the kitchen table when he told me.”

“Did he enjoy jokes?”

Dean shook his head, still looking out of the window. “Nah. He was just being a kid.”

Dean felt his throat tightening and his eyes started to tingle. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger back and forth over his jeans. He could still see Sam shrugging off his backpack and grinning when he told it. Dean had tried to get on to him and he'd failed from laughing. 

“Knock, knock,” Dean asked, staring out of the window.

“Who’s there?” Castiel asked.

“Boo-who.”

“Boo-who, who?”

“Stop crying, pussy. It’s not the end of the world,” Dean said, laughing and feeling like he might choke on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has the potential to sprawl a little bit, so if you guys start to notice it dragging, please drop a comment about it. I want to keep the slow burn, but I don't want it to be boring. With me looking at it so closely sometimes it hard for me to pick up on those things.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you that have left comments and kudos. They're like little hugs. :)
> 
> This should be one of the last with so much of Castiel's history, at least it should stop being so sad. But it does play a part in the rest of the story. Promise.

They were flying for a long time. Long enough for it to get dark and the interior lights of the cabin to come on.

“It’s dark down there,” Dean said, looking out of the window.

Castiel glanced up from his book and watched below them. “It’s the ocean.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll be there soon,” Castiel said.

Dean started to drum his fingers and looked down. He wished he could see the ocean. He’d only seen it a handful of times and not since he’d been an adult. His dad hadn’t liked to take jobs on the coasts. So he’d seen more wheat than he ever cared to, but the ocean was still bad ass.  

“Is it cold or warm?”

“Frigid,” Castiel said.

“Seriously?”

Castiel laughed slightly without looking up. “You’ll see.”

“Is being a pain in the ass a dragon thing or just a you thing?”

“If I answered you it would be out of character either way.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head as the stewardess came in.

“The pilot asks that you put your seatbelts on. We’ll be landing soon,” she said.

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

Dean pulled on his seatbelt and tightened it down. Just because he had calmed down didn’t mean he was an idiot. He cinched it down until it hurt a little bit. When he felt the plane starting to angle down, he gripped the chair arms and stared out of the windows.

“It’s nearly over,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded.

It felt like it was over quicker than the takeoff. Maybe it was only because Dean knew it was almost over, instead of just beginning or he still had enough of everything in his system. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

Castiel stood with his book and went to the door. The stewardess opened the hatch and the stairs lowered. Dean followed Castiel off the plane. The wind was warm against his face and coat. It was humid and salty. .

He stepped onto solid ground and looked around them. The landing strip was surrounded by floodlights that were washing out everything and making the trees behind the fall of light dark. Still, he could see the palm leaves and hear them rubbing against each other far above his head.

“Mr. Novak, we have your car waiting,” a man said, coming toward them.

Castiel took the keys from him and Dean followed him across the lit up tarmac. When he passed the guy who gave Castiel the keys, he saw him cross himself and mumble something in Latin.

“Did you eat his goat or something?” Dean asked.

Castiel laughed quietly. “No. He just isn’t foolish enough to believe I’m human because that’s what I say.”

A Jeep was waiting on them where the flood lights started to fade. Dean heard the engines of the airplane winding up as it started to taxi down the runway. He watched it lift into the sky, looking way too heavy. Then it flew away until all he could see was blinking lights and those were swallowed when Castiel drove beneath palm trees.

“Is this weather better?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean said, taking off his jacket and tossing it in the back of the Jeep as the wind blew in the cab with the doors and top gone. “Where are we?”

“Near Jamaica.”

Dean laughed, tapping his fingers on the metal roll cage with a slight shake of his head. “My life is so freakin’ weird.”

“I’ve only known you a short time and I have to agree.”

The roads were rough pavement then turned to gravel. The Jeep bumped over the uneven roads. Dean didn’t get car sick, but it was even making him a little motion sick when the trees and jungly-type undergrowth cleared. A house stood in a clearing on stilts. Lights glowed in the windows and even from here, he could see it was candle light.

Castiel parked the Jeep beneath an awning then got out. Dean expected him to go to the stairs, leading up to the house, but Castiel walked beneath the awning, beneath the house, under the stilts. Dean followed him, ducking his head under beams until they were out from beneath the house and on a beach.

The clouds had cleared from the moon and with his eyesight, it looked like daylight. A better, monotone daylight. The sand was white. The water was black with the tops of the currents glinting white. The water looked like it stretched forever, like it went up into the sky and it was impossible to tell where the glint of the waves ended and the stars began.

“Jesus.”

“He isn’t here,” Castiel said.

“Why the fuck would you ever live anywhere else?” Dean asked, feeling the warm breeze against his face and feeling himself falling in love with it all.

“I have my reasons,” Castiel said. “It is beautiful, though.”

“No, man, it’s awesome.”

“Awesome.”

“There you go.”

***

Dean followed Castiel up a set of stairs to a back porch that wrapped around the length of the house. Parts of it were covered by a roof and others were left open. Castiel opened a set of French doors and walked into a large living room. Dean left them open behind him.

Two huge ceiling fans with leaf and cloth looking blades turned slowly against a wood ceiling. Multiple light colored couches sat around a large fireplace with stones stretching out a few feet into the room. Dean’s skin already felt warm, thinking about laying out on them.

There was a fur rug, but it was white. It was all wood floors, but they were warm tones. The walls were a creamy tan color. Through a wide archway, he could see part of a kitchen and a small dining table.

“Nice digs,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the couch before rolling up the sleeves of his button-up. “Do you want to be shown to your room?”

“Sure.”

“This way,” Castiel said, going down a hallway between the living room and the kitchen.

It was lined on one side by windows and moonlight spilled in through slated blinds. Through the thinness of Castiel’s white shirt, he could see the dark spread of his scales stretching down his back. It just looked like a shadow. He wanted to see them. He wanted to see them really bad.

Bitterness stung his tongue like not swallowing a pill quickly enough. He sucked at his tongue and nearly ran into Castiel when he stopped.

“This is your room,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry about the bed. This was how I had the house constructed.”

In the center of the room was a bowl-shaped impression. It was lined with pillows and blankets and looked unbelievably soft. Dean walked in and sank down into on his hands and knees. It was like an grownup ball pit and he couldn’t even contain the amount of enthusiasm bouncing around.

“This is awesome.”

Castiel went to the closet and pulled open sliding doors. “I guessed at your sizes. If these don’t fit you then we can make arrangements tomorrow. There are shoes too, but most of the time you can go barefoot here.”

Dean sat up on his knees in the bed and looked toward the closet. Bags were sitting on the floor and other things were hanging up. It was a lot more clothes than he’d ever owned at one time. Maybe all together. He got out of the bed and leafed through the shirts hanging up. They were softer, thinner versions of the flannel he wore and soft t-shirts.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Dean said.

“I wanted to.”

“Shit. Thanks, Cas.”

“Do you want to get settled or come to the kitchen with me?”

“I’ll be there in a second. I think I’ll hop in the shower and change,” Dean said.

“Of course. The bathroom is through there,” Castiel said, pointing to an open doorway at the back corner of the room. “There should be a few pairs of sleeping clothes mixed in with the rest.”

“Thanks.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s shoulder before leaving. Dean flipped through the shirts some more before kneeling down and taking clothes from the sacks. He’d never been one for shopping. He didn’t like being around people that much and he didn’t like going into the changing rooms, but he liked having new clothes. He figured everyone did.

What he didn’t like, was the smell of these. After high school, he dated a well-off girl for a few weeks and she’d buy him things sometimes. They always had this smell, like they were soaked in money. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but he hated thinking about how much this shit cost Castiel.

When he couldn’t look at any of it anymore, he took a t-shirt, a pair of sleep shorts, and underwear to the bathroom. The bathroom was just as awesome as the rest of the house and just as much the opposite of the other house. A picture of a sunset hung above the toilet. Not the awful, cheesy pictures, but something really well done in a black frame.

Dean got in the shower and lathered a rag. Like the other house, the light was dim, but it had a yellow hue instead of blue. It came through the clear glass of the shower stall and lit up the green of the scales on his chest. He twisted his torso around and watched the colors change from black to deep green.

He touched them and water beaded on them before fogging them up. If he let himself, he would’ve sat in there touching them until the water went cold, but he was antsy. He got out and pulled on the underwear without really thinking about until he felt the silkiness.

He paused and looked down at them. They were black boxer briefs, which is what he liked to wear, but they were thin. But Jesus they were soft. He looked at himself in the mirror that touched the floor. They were tight, but they didn’t feel tight, it was like he was wearing nothing.

Not to mention, he thought he looked pretty damn good in them.

The shirt was a v-neck, which he wasn’t generally too crazy about. But it was just as soft as the underwear and only a little bit thicker. Even with the low light, he could see a little bit of his skin. But, it was hot here and he’d rather show off a little skin than be burning up.

The shorts were pretty standard, which he was grateful for. They came almost to his knees and were the right thickness so he wouldn’t be showing off his ass to Castiel. When he walked out of the bathroom, he felt better than he had in a few days. He was clean, he had on clean clothes, and it wasn’t fucking freezing and dark.

He caught on the inset bed for a second, thinking about just crawling in and going to sleep. It looked so cozy. He was hungry though, so he went back down the hall and into the kitchen where Castiel was at the bar, cutting up a roll of sausage, like on Dean’s first night.

“Do you mind having a cold dinner?” Castiel asked.

“Sounds good,” Dean said.

Then Castiel glanced up and smiled small, looking at Dean’s chest as Dean sat on a stool. “The shirt fits you well. It matches your scales.”

Dean looked down and saw the little bit of scaled skin showing at the bottom of the shirt collar. He wanted to tug it up, but he didn’t want to make it awkward, so he left it alone.

“Thanks. And thanks for it all. These underwear are amazing. Feels like I’m going commando.”

Castiel laughed. “What brand are they?”

Dean stood up and looked pulled away his pants. “I don’t know. Does it say on the back band?” he asked, turning around.

Castiel slid his finger into the band of his pants. “Ah. I wear the same kind. My people know what to shop for.”

Then Castiel was back around the bar, cutting slices from a wedge of cheese. “Do your scales cover your entire backside?”

“Geez, Cas, way to make a guy blush,” Dean said, sitting down again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed. “I’m fucking with you. They go about halfway down my ass. Is that not normal?”  

“The patterns given are as unique as coloring.”

“Neat-o.”

“Water or wine?” Castiel asked, going to cabinet.

“Water. You’re going to kill me with that shit.”

Castiel smiled as he took down two glasses and filled them from a pitcher in the fridge. He came back and handed them across the bar before pushing the large plate with cut meat and cheese between them and taking a few slices from it and eating from his own hand.

“So you guys are all different colors?” Dean asked. “What’s the worse you’ve seen?”

“Hm,” Castiel said, taking a bite. “I once met an Italian dragon with pink scales and yellow spines.”

Dean laughed, “Seriously?”

“Very. The meanest dragon I’ve ever met.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Touché,” Castiel said.

“Alright, what about the weirdest?”

“A Russian dragon whose body looked like running water when he shifted.”

“That’s pretty bad ass.”

Castiel nodded. “I saw him once when snow was falling in Stalingrad and it looked like river water moving beneath ice, blacks, greens, and grays moving all together. His eyes did the same thing. He was a beautifully unsettling creature. So passionate about his homeland.”

“One of your guys?” Dean asked, seeing the far away look in Castiel’s eyes as he looked at the plate.

“No, but a dear friend,” Castiel said.

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” Dean said, eating and watching Castiel. He liked Castiel’s stories. It was nice to listen to someone talk when they had that kind of history under their belt, when they had literally lived lifetimes.

 Castiel nodded, “I met him, Nikon, in Berlin in the mid-1700s. He was all quiet passion. He rarely spoke of it, he rarely spoke at all, but he was the rare creature that didn’t need to. You could read the fire in his eyes.”

“So you guys screwed like rabbits,” Dean said, taking a drink of his water and smiling at the slight color in Castiel’s cheeks as he smiled.

“No. Like dragons, for days,” Castiel said, looking up at Dean from where he leaned forward on the counter.

Dean laughed, but he felt the warmth in his ears again and looked away from Castiel. His voice had dropped when he’d said that and he’d looked right at him, like Dean hadn’t actually embarrassed him at all.

“It was only a holiday for us both. We spent our weeks in Germany together and we formed a very close companionship. The kind that only two very like souls can have. I taught him English in his hotel bed overlooking the Rhine and he whispered to me in Russian while we shared vodka. Then when we parted ways, me for England and Nikon to Russia, it was done with. We communicated by letter, but I don’t believe either of us was terribly heartbroken.”

“So that’s it, huh? You didn’t see him again? Dragon version of a one night stand or the Cas version?”

Castiel laughed slightly, but not his eyes looked incredibly sad and he wished he’d kept his fucking mouth shut, even though he didn’t know what he’d said.

“I did see him. He came to America in the early 1900s. He stayed with John and I. They became wonderful friends. John had lost a brother to famine and Nikon had lost his dearest friend to political unrest. They took those places for each other and I thank God for him. For the aid he gave in allowing John to settle into this life. He stayed with us a handful of years, coming and going as he pleased.”

Castiel stared at the wood block of the bar and Dean felt the tension in his chest at the tightness on Castiel’s face.

“John died in April of 1939,” Castiel said without looking up. “By then Nikon had returned to Russia with the threats of war rising. I joined him and I fought beside him in his frozen homeland. His contingent of men became so feared that our region of the country was avoided by the Nazis, so we went to Stalingrad and we fought for her for seven months.

“When the war ended, I stayed. Generally, we don’t concern ourselves with human wars. Your kind fights so viciously and is so easily provoked. For all my years, I had only fought in a handful of battles and all of those were far in my past. I had never fought with my heart on my sleeve. I had never fought for bloodlust and that alone, but that’s what I’d done. I had killed boys believing they were men, because my heart was bleeding.

“Even when the battles were done, I saw blood in my sleep. I saw the dirt and snow spraying the air with vital parts. I saw trees burning as I set them alight and men screamed as they burned. I still saw the artery in John’s neck pulsing as he bleed to death and looked at me like he could not believe he were dying.

“Nikon’s flat in Moscow was always quiet. We would lie together just to hear the sheets moving. It was always gray there. The sun never shinned. The people were starving and there was never laughter. I decided to leave one day while I was standing on his balcony, looking at the city and her scars. Our goodbye was quiet as well. What they don’t tell you about like souls, is how their likeness can be debilitating. How if you are quiet, you can become silent when you believe your soul has nothing to give another.”

Dean looked at Castiel and felt like he’d been punched in the chest. It wasn’t the story, not just the story. Castiel looked like his heart had been ripped in half. Even when he told the story about his other guy, his teacher, he’d had more happiness on his face than sadness. Now he just looked like he was being tortured.

Castiel cleared his throat before straightening. “Excuse me,” he said without looking at Dean.

Dean watched as Castiel walked out of the room and into the living room, then through the outside doors. The food he’d eaten pushed against his throat and he pushed it away to make the smell dull. He felt bad. He’d been the one with the stupid questions and now Castiel was obviously upset. But he didn’t know him well enough to know if he should go find him. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy, the kind to bitch out then make you go find them.

Dean bit at his inner neck repeatedly, watching the clock on the wall as the second hand moved. He kept slapping his thighs or picking up a piece of cheese just to tear it up. It seemed like forever to let half an hour pass, but when it did, he got up and followed Castiel outside.

He looked around and was about to walk off the porch when Castiel cleared his throat quietly from the side.

“Dean.”

He was sitting along the wall in a cushioned patio chair. The shadow from the alcove he was sitting in was almost dark enough to hide him, even from Dean.

“Care if I sit down?”

“If you wish,” Castiel said.

Dean sat in a chair across a table from Castiel, facing the ocean with him. The wind was still blowing, rattling the trees and somewhere in the dark Dean heard a dull thud. He frowned toward it and Castiel smiled slightly.

“Coconuts.”

“Falling?”

“Yes.”

“Weird.”

Castiel slouched to one side of his chair, resting his chin on his hand as he stared out of the water. There was a piece of fabric wadded up in his hand so tightly it was almost hidden.

“I’m sorry for my outburst. I don’t speak about my history often. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I spoke this often. I thought I had moved beyond this point.”

“What? The missing people point?” Dean asked. “Yeah, Cas, I don’t think people move beyond that point. If you love ‘em you’re gonna miss ‘em.”

“Your accent comes through very clearly when you think you’ve made a point,” Castiel said with another of his small smiles.

“’Cause it makes me smarter.”

“Oh I see.”

It was quiet between them and Dean was wondering if he should excuse himself to go to bed. He was pretty good at reading social ques though and Castiel wasn’t acting like he wanted him to leave. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, just quiet.

“Is it worth it?” Dean asked.

“Hm?” Castiel asked.

“Being in love. Getting your heart torn up.”

“When it’s good, it is the sweetest elation and comfort. When it’s gone there is a void that feels like it will never be breached.”

“And what about tonight?”

“Tonight I wish I’d never heard any of their names.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Thank you,” he said, then cleared his throat again. “I know I can’t sleep at the moment, so I would be grateful if you would talk to me.”

“What about?”

“It doesn’t matter. Stories soothe, though.”

“Pretty sure a story got us out here,” Dean said with a humorless laugh.

“Then a light hearted story,” Castiel said.

“Alright,” Dean said. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands forward and back over his thighs before nodding to himself. “I can tell you about when I got my car.”

“The shiny phallus in my garage?”

“Hey, that’s my baby you’re talking about.”

Castiel smiled slightly. “Well then forgive me.”

 Dean snorted and watched Castiel twist the cloth in his hand. His hands were thin and pale. They were elegant looking, though, like a pianist or something.

“So we moved around a lot, like I said, and that makes it hard to hold down a job. Then on top of that, hunting just doesn’t pay well. We run credit card scams and stuff like that to keep food on the table, but overall, money’s just a giant pain in the ass. But all through high school I kept getting better at hustling pool. I’d sneak into bars and get a hundred dollars here and there. I wanted a ’69 Camaro sitting at my dad’s friend’s salvage yard so bad I could taste it. It needed to be completely restored, but god I wanted it.

“Well I got it. It took me until I was almost eighteen, but I got her. Bobby, my dad’s friend, helped me start restoring it before I even bought it, but he still only charged me $700 for it, even though it was running and he could’ve sold it for over $20k any day of the week.”

“That was very generous of him,” Castiel said.

“He’s a good guy like that, like a dad to me and Sam,” Dean said. “Anyway, so I bought it and me and Sam started driving separate from Dad. If we wanted to stay awhile longer in one place, we could. We weren’t completely dependent on what he wanted. It was awesome having that kind of freedom.

“Then some stupid piece of shit ran a red light and nailed her, right in the passenger fender. They hit so hard it cracked the block. The transmission was fucked. The rear end, all of it. Everything me and Bobby had done went right down the drain.”

“That’s terrible,” Castiel said.

“I was tore up,” Dean said with an uncomfortable laugh. “I mean, it was just a car, but it was just my car.”

“It wasn’t just a car, it was your freedom,” Castiel said, like he completely understood. It made Dean feel a little less stupid about talking about his car when Castiel had just spilled a war story.

“Yeah, but I think that’s what got me the Impala. It was my dad’s for as long as I can remember. I loved it. It’s the car I learned to work on. Even when I got the Camaro I had it painted black and put chrome accents on it. So a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, Dad took me out into the driveway at Bobby’s. He’d cleaned her all up and the wheels shining like crazy. An ‘80s GMC sat beside it and he threw me a set of keys. I thought he was giving me that, but nope. He gave me his girl and I was stoked.”

“He sounds like a good father.”

“He had a handful of moments. For the most part,” Dean held up his hand and tilted it back and forth. “He was just alright.”

“But you love him.”

Dean looked down at his hands, but nodded. “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Thank you, Dean. That helped.”

“No problem,” Dean said.

“I think I’m going to lie down now.”

“Sure.”

“Feel free to do whatever you like. There are movies on the entertainment center. I suppose you’ll have no issues working the electronics.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Would you like to go around the island tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

Castiel stood and seemed torn before nodding. “Then good night. Sleep well.”

“Yeah you too, Cas.”

Dean watched Castiel walk back into the house and he sat around, listening to the tide coming in. He thought about going to the water, but it was really big, intimidatingly big and dark. He felt like if he walked to close a riptide might jump on land and pull him out. It was still kind of beautiful though and he was looking forward to morning, when he could really see it.

There was still guilt though, as he thought about Castiel and the story he’d accidentally made him tell. He hadn’t thought Castiel was still that upset about John. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. He wasn’t good at handing his own shit, let alone someone else’s.

And he didn’t know why he gave a shit at all.

Castiel had turned him into this. He had scales because of him, his eyesight was fucking weird, and he was eating raw meat like crazy.

But then what he’d walked away from was worse and even if he should be pissed he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Not when he was sitting at a beach house, looking over the ocean with warmth against his face and feeling like he was a world away from most things bad. It didn't seem like much of a sacrifice to be sharing it with a monster. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this one took so long.
> 
> *Mentions of suicide

The next day, Dean rode in the passenger seat of the Jeep as Castiel drove along the dirt road that wound along the edge of the island. They went through a fishing village, saw a few people out in small boats, dotting the water, and saw children playing on the sand. Dean watched their faces bright with laughter, even bare foot and their hair dirty. There was a pang deep in his chest that he didn’t get.

“Are you ready to head back yet? I thought we could spend time on the beach before the sun dropped,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

As beautiful as the island was, the tangled underbrush of vegetation looked generally the same. The roads were bad and Castiel was being quiet, so it had gotten a little boring about two hours in. They stopped at a shack set alone on the beach before driving into the encroaching tree line that Dean thought separated Castiel’s home from the locals, but he wasn’t sure. It all looked so similar.

Dean got out of the Jeep with Castiel and walked across the sand to the stall. The counter was splintering and to the side a lean-to was made of dry rotten fishing nets. Buckets of still flopping fish sat in the little shade it made. Castiel became to speak in a language Dean didn’t understand to the old woman behind the counter. He pointed to the bucket of fish, made hand gestures like she made. His deep voice lifted and dropped in a weird way. Dean had no idea what he was saying, but listening to him talk was enough.

In the end, Castiel took a watch from his pocket and laid it on the counter. The woman gave him at least ten small fish and three large ones.

“Was that watch important?” Dean asked, as they drove away, watching the old woman opening it to look down at the face before the trees swallowed them.

“No. I have an assortment of trade items I keep for this alone. They will take money, but they hardly have a need for it. Most would rather have something solid.”

“Smart.”

“I suppose.”

When they got to the house, Dean grabbed the fish from the back.

“Where do you want these?”

“I’ll take them,” Castiel said. “Feel free to do what you like. I’ll be down in a while.”

“You aren’t going to come down to the beach?”

“Maybe later. I think the sun has gone to my head,” he said as he took the basket from Dean. “Please, enjoy yourself. Don’t overheat.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, watching as Castiel walked away, up the stairs of the house.

Then Dean went beneath the stilts and out onto the sand. He might have forgotten to care as much as he looked out at Castiel’s perfect view. They had seen may different awesome views from around the island today, but this had to be the best. The jungle framed it, nearly to the waters edge, leaving plenty of room to sunbath, but giving them privacy. The water was beautiful, dark, and clear.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. The sun blazed on the windows. He probably couldn’t have seen if Castiel was looking out even he was right against it. In the end, he decided he didn’t care. He pulled his shirt over his head and pushed off his shorts before running out into the water.

The waves lapped at him the farther out he got. Salt, faint fish, cooler undercurrents with warm ones around his body. He let it pull at him with the breeze and sun on his face and drifted, his mind empty and amazingly quiet.

***

“Dean?”

Dean propped up on his elbows, blinking away sleep. Castiel stood in front of him with sand scattered on his white feet.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to help me make a fire?”

“A fire? For what?” he asked, making himself sit up and trying to grind the grogginess out of his voice.

“To cook with. We’ll have to gather driftwood.”

“Yeah sure,” Dean said, standing up and feeling like he’d been hit over the head.

Castiel laughed. “The sea will take it out of you, won’t it?”

“No shit. The last thing I remember was coming out of it and laying down.”

“You shouldn’t have to go far into the tree line to find enough wood. Some larger pieces most smaller,” Castiel said, walking across the sand that was turning gray in the lowering light of the sun until he was in the shadow of the trees.

Dean went with him, picking through tangles of vines and rotting vegetation. Occasionally, he could hear Castiel making a quiet snap yards from him, but not often. He felt like the clumsiest person in the world, stopping around, cussing, and tripping. By the time he came back out, Castiel was laying larger sticks of wood together in a teepee shape and pushing smaller branches inside. He took the limbs from Dean and finished it dusting his hands.

“I can make a flint or something,” Dean said, looking around for a sharp stick and one flat. “Or a lighter, I can actually do that.”

Castiel laughed then kneeled down by the base of the sticks. He took a deep breath and Dean watched his chest expand then fire shot out of his mouth in a thin even stream. It went between his soft looking lips like people blew out smoke, illuminating his face and shining off his eyes before it stopped and the kindling caught fire.

“Okay,” Dean said, staring at Castiel watched the flames grow. “That’s pretty damn cool.”

Castiel laughed. “If you would be so kind, please help me get a few things from the kitchen.”

“Sure.”

Dean followed Castiel into the kitchen and took the fish from the refrigerator when he was asked. He watched Castiel put spices into a large bowl, grab a weird looking pan that might be a skillet, and a few other things. They went back out to the sand and Castiel took the first of the fish and cut down its center.

“There’s another knife if you’d like to help me,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

He took the other kitchen knife and picked up one of the small scaly bodies. He watched Castiel’s hands. They were so slim and moved so precisely. He frowned and started to drag down the center. The line was jagged and skipped from the thin meat of the belly to the flesher stuff on its sides.

“Have you ever cleaned fish?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed slightly. “Not really.”

“Watch,” Castiel said. “We’re going to leave these mostly whole to keep in the moisture. All I want are the insides gone, so press your knife in just below here,” he said, the tip leaving an indent in the gaunt silver skin, “Then drag downward. You may have to pass over another time then reach in and pull out its innards. Cut them, here, then throw the discard into the bowl.”

Dean did what Castiel showed him. He cleaned one to Castiel’s four, but in the end, they had a nice pile of fish in front of them. Dean went and dumped the guts far into the trees so they wouldn’t smell them. When he came back, Castiel had his metal contraption on the fire with fish bodies pressed between.

He watched from behind for a moment, the fire playing over the curves of Castiel’s white t-shirt and the way his hands turned the cooking cage every so often. The angle of his throat contrasted the most, orange, red, black shades. It looked soft. He wondered how it would feel beneath his lips, how the skin would spring back. Then he shook himself and sat on the sand beside him.

“I brought wine out. It’s nice with the sounds of the sea,” he said.

Dean took the ceramic bottle between them and looked out at the water. “Why do you call it the sea? It’s the Atlantic.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s a slip of the tongue. I was born on the edge of the Celtic Sea.”

“Did it look like this?”

Castiel laughed. “Oh God no. There were a few fleeting months that you could swim, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart even then. It was beautiful though.”

“Do you ever go back?”

“Not often. The last time I was back was in the ‘70s for a few months, before then I went in the early 1900s for the Uprisings.”

“Do you ever think of moving back?”

“Possibly one day. Maybe when it is the country I remember her as in my youth and not cast in the shadow of the English.”

“I found a touchy spot,” Dean sing-songed, before drinking from the wine again and watching the fire reflecting off of Castiel’s eyes in a different way. Castiel smiled, the light catching on his slightly elongated teeth.

“I am no snout.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I would’ve been surprised if you had,” Castiel said, then he took the fish from the fire. He opened the case with his bare hands, his skin sizzling. Dean watched as the blackened burn marks faded as he worked.

They pulled apart the bony little fish and ate with their fingers. They passed the wine back and forth and Castiel went to get another. Whatever funk Castiel had been in disappeared as it got darker and they got drunker.

“Try this,” Castiel said, holding out a piece of moist white meat from one of the larger fish.

“No, man, it had a beak.”

“It was a bill, and it’s still delicious.”

Dean leaned forward, feeling the world shift with how heavily his head swam. He put his lips around Castiel’s fingers, tasting the salt on them before using his tongue to bring the meat into his mouth. When he pulled away, he sucked his spit and the oil from the fish off Castiel’s fingertips. He wiped his mouth when he realized what he did and avoided looking at him.

“That’s good.”

“Yes it is.”

The shiver Castiel’s voice turning graveled like that caused was drowned under more wine until they were both laughing again. He told Castiel about growing up in hotels and the ways he got himself into trouble. Castiel laughed, deep vibrating laugher that made the darkness feel warmer as they leaned back on the sand.

“What would you have done, Dean, if you hadn’t been raised a hunter?”

Dean shrugged, laying on his stomach, facing Castiel who was on his side, looking at the fire. “A mechanic maybe? I like working on cars.”

“I could see that for you.”

“Don’t see a Mustang biting me and turning me into a horse fly.”

Castiel laughed, “That would be unfortunate.”

They kept talking until they were laying on their backs, looking up at the sky with the fire burned low. Castiel pointed above them, tracing invisible lines between the stars.

“That is Aries. Do you see the point of the ram’s nose? Going back to his horns and down his back?”

“It looks a lot like a line.”

Castiel laughed, “Aye, their imaginations were strong. My god’s is stronger. Do you see the bright star there?”

“Which one?”

“There,” he said, still pointing.

Dean moved closer until his face was near Castiel’s and he could see the same sky he was seeing.

“Yeah I think so.”

“See how it angles back to the spattering of stars there?”

“They look like wings,” Dean said.

“Aye, and that spattering there, do you see? That’s his fire.”

Dean smiled, because he could see it. It was vague like the others Castiel had pointed out.

“Does that hurt? Breathing fire?”

“No. It’s very warming.”

“Cool.”

Castiel laughed. “You sound like a child. All you have to do is ask, Dean.”

“Ask what?”

Castiel just looked at him and Dean finally smiled.

“Fine. Cas, would you pretty please show the fire thing again?”

Castiel smiled and Dean would see the small amount of cockiness in it before he circled his lips like he was going to blow smoke. Then a trail of fire left between his full pink lips, expanding out above them, radiating heat.

“How long can you do that?” Dean asked, watching the stream.

Castiel shrugged and stopped before blowing out rings of fire. Dean started to laugh as he shot smaller ones between the growing ones as they extinguished in gray, lighter than the sky above them.

“Show off.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel said.

They drank another bottle between them. Dean listened to random stories from Castiel. He had so many and he had such an easy way of telling them. He ended up telling Castiel a few of his family, even a few of Sam, too drunk happy to care. But there’s always a tipping point, and he had never been great at judging where that was. He laid face down and groaned into the sand.

“Oh sweet Jesus.”

Castiel laughed.

“Have fun going back to hell. I’m going to stay here,” Dean said, turning his cheek against the sand. The warmth from the sun was still on it and it felt awesome.

“You’re such a land lizard.”

“You say it like that’s a bad thing to be.”

“For most. You make it endearing,” Castiel said.

This time Dean didn’t get warm. Castiel said weird shit like that, it almost sounded like hitting on him, but he said it like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t weird to tell a guy you thought he was endearing or handsome then just go on about your business.

“Why do you live at the other house when you can have this?” Dean asked, closing his eyes.

“Sometimes I feel it’s purgatory,” Castiel said in the dark.

Dean looked up at the dark and felt the warmth of Castiel’s skin against his arm.

“Why stay there then?” Dean asked.

“Can you imagine a better place for grief?”

Dean stared up and felt the ocean cooled air on his face. “No.”

They laid in silence and Dean felt his eyes starting to water. Every second, he thought of keeping his mouth closed, but it felt like vomit was about to come out. His eyes were leaking before he ever said anything. That wine was a traitorous bitch.

“My brother killed himself a year ago.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling his tears sliding back into the hair at his temples. “He was,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Shit. He was going to school, college. He’d been gone for about a year and I kept hunting with our dad. Then Dad disappeared. I went and got Sam, because I couldn’t find Dad alone. He came with me to look. Then, uh, his girlfriend died in a car wreck.

“He seemed like he was doing okay with it, then he just,” Dean said and choked on a hard sob. Castiel took his hand between them. Dean squeezed his fingers. “I found him in the bathroom of our motel room. He’d cut his wrists and bled out in the tub.”

Dean used his other hand to cover his mouth out of habit. He knew his mouth trembled when he cried. He could feel his teeth clicking as snot ran from his nose and he squeezed Castiel’s hand harder to keep from the loud, ugly tears he could feel threatening.

“I didn’t need him to come help me that bad,” he said. “I could’ve found Dad by myself, but I missed him so much. I dragged him back into it and he fucking killed himself.”

Dean couldn’t breathe as he tried to calm himself down. Every inhale ended with tears so hard they hurt his lungs. It didn’t help that he felt like a fucking idiot. He was a fucking pussy. He just cried harder and he started to panic because it didn’t feel like it would ever stop.

Then Castiel sat up. Dean’s heart dropped, thinking Castiel was going to get up and leave. Then Castiel pulled him up and hugged him, tucking Dean’s face against his shoulder.

“Shh,” Castiel said, as he held the back of Dean’s hair and pressed his cheek against his skull.

That was all he said. Then they were just quiet as Dean sobbed. It felt like forever, it felt like it wouldn’t ever end then he felt the soft pressure of Castiel’s teeth on his neck. It felt as clinical as a shot and as warm as his hug as his teeth settled into Dean’s skin and his poison leaked out. When he pulled away, he licked at Dean’s neck softly. It felt like cleaning. Like an animal cleaning something it cared about. The last thing Dean remembered was the firmness of Castiel’s body against him and the burning in his chest, so much burning. Then he was asleep.

***

Dean felt the bed move then Castiel’s hot breath on his neck. Dean tilted up his neck and groaned. He buried his fingers in Castiel’s hair and Castiel put his hand beneath his shirt. Dean jerked when Castiel’s fingers brushed the scales on his chest. He felt a glob of precum leak out and tack to his underwear.

“You make beautiful noises,” Castiel whispered against his ear.

If anyone had ever told Dean he’d find someone talking like that in his ear sexy, he would’ve laughed at them. But he couldn’t laugh then. He felt like he was turning to pudding under Castiel’s fingers. Then Castiel had his underwear open, groping at the scales of Dean’s groin.

Dean made a noise he would be ashamed of later as he came all over himself.

Then he was awake in the bowl bed.

The room was dark and the ceiling fan turned lazily above him, drying spurts of cum to his stomach. His breathing was heavy as he stared at the blades turning and listened to his own heart pounding.


	10. Chapter 10

When Dean woke up again, the night before was hazy. He remembered flashes of light as Castiel breathed fire, the light on his face, the wine that was now disgustingly sweet on his tongue. He went to the bathroom attached to his room and brushed his teeth. There was a shadow on his neck in a circle. He stretched his neck and pressed his fingers to the faint marks. They were tender. He leaned forward and saw the individual teeth marks, the thicker ones at the front.

It tingled when he touched them. The surface of his skin and up to the base of his spine. He rubbed his palm over the marks before he rinsed out his mouth and got dressed.

When he walked out into the living room, it was empty. The kitchen was empty. The sun streamed in the large windows. It had to be noon or just before.

“Cas?” he called.

He didn’t get an answer so he went down to the beach. The spot of their fire from last night was a gray circle to the side. Dean jogged passed it, the sand hot on his feet, but it felt amazing. He wanted to roll around on it, then lay out in it, and let the sun bake him. It felt like it would take away the tiny bit of his headache that was left from the hangover. But first he wanted to get wet. He froze when he saw Castiel in his peripheral vision.

He was laying on a tall flat rock to the edge of the beach, buck ass naked and asleep.  

Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew Castiel had a good body, but Jesus. The wiry muscle of his arm over hanging the edge of the rock was smooth under his skin. His ribs were covered by small thin scales that wrapped around to his back.

Dean rubbed his hand over his dick before running into the water and diving in to lose himself in the cold, the current, and letting it cool off his half hard-on.

He pulled himself out of the water when he started to get tired. He didn’t know how long that was. He spent so much time under the water, swimming, and swimming. He didn’t get tired. His muscles burned in a good way. He jogged out and went to lay down in the sand, but he couldn’t help looking at Castiel again. He still hadn’t moved. His back was pretty enough to be made of blue marbles.

Dean couldn’t help himself. He snuck up as quietly as he could then when he was right beside Castiel, getting to look down on him. Then he shook.

Water splattered Castiel’s face and his lip raised in his sleep. Then his eyes were open and he looked pissed.

“Dean? I was sleeping.”

“Yeah you’ve been sleeping. Lazy.”

“This is my rock. I can be lazy if I want.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Dean said, then he gripped Castiel around his waist before he could think about it too much.

For how powerful Castiel was, he wasn’t any heavier than a normal person, not really. Dean carried him, back to front, toward the water. Castiel wormed in his arms with his scales sanding against Dean’s stomach.

“Let me go.”

“Temper, temper, Cas,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Castiel said. He was still trying to sound pissy, but there was a little bit of humor there.

“Nope, you need to cool off,” Dean said.

Then Castiel tangled his legs with Dean’s and they both slammed into the tideline. Castiel got free and started to get to his feet. Dean grabbed him around the waist and they hit the sand. Castiel grunted out a laugh and Dean felt himself relax completely. He pulled Castiel beneath him to use his weight against him. It would’ve worked if the sun and water didn’t start shinning off his back, like molten metal meeting stone. Black at his spine, spreading out to deep deep blue, going lighter as it wrapped around his sides.  

Castiel rolled and gripped him, looping his legs around his waist and rolling them. His legs were gone from Dean’s hips almost as soon as they were there, then Dean was on his back.

“You shouldn’t bother people sleeping. They might decide to drown you,” Castiel said, holding Dean down by his chest as the tide lapped at his hair.

“But we both know I’m too pretty for that and you’re a push over,” Dean said, bucking his hips to dislodge Castiel.

Then he was being moved out of the water and onto his stomach. He laughed as he turned his face out of the sand so he could breathe. Castiel’s hand barely touch his back as he reached up to hold down his shoulder.

Dean’s eyes shot open as an exhale shot out of him.

“Have I won?” Castiel asked.

“I think so,” Dean said, trying to sound steady but his heart was hammering. He could feel the tingles in his back still.

Castiel continued to sit on him, motionless for a few moments before leaning forward. Dean felt more than saw him put a hand beside his head.

“I’ve never seen scales this green. They’re beautiful,” Castiel said.

“Thanks, Cas. Yours aren’t bad either,” Dean said, trying to sound joking.

“Can I feel them?”

“Yeah,” he said too quickly then bit his lip as he flinched at himself.

There was a brush at his ribs. It was so careful he almost thought he’d imagined it, then there were definitely fingertips brushing his side. A full body shock went down his spine and he squeezed a handful of sand as he bit his lip harder.

Then Castiel slid a palm up beside his spine and up to his shoulder. Dean leaned his forehead against his fist and breathed out hard. His dick was so hard so quick it was digging into the sand. His heart was beating so hard. He was sweating and it had nothing to do with the sun.

Castiel drug his finger down Dean’s spine and Dean tried to bite back a groan. I didn’t work. Then the hand was gone and he felt Castiel’s cool breath against the sunburned skin on the side of his neck.

“You let yourself burn,” Castiel said quietly then Dean thought he felt Castiel’s nose graze his neck and ear. He could smell the heat on him, warm sweat and sun.

“Yeah.”

Then Castiel was off of him and offering Dean his hand. Dean took it and Castiel pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s get something on that to keep them from hurting,” Castiel said.

Dean watched him walk back to the rock. His scales moved over the muscles of his back as he walked. They went down his ass, like Dean’s, fading down and changing to his skin tone almost halfway down. Dean looked away clearing his throat, marking it up to wanting to see the pattern.

They went into the house together. The doors left open and the breeze coming in.

“Lie down on the couch. I’ll be back,” Castiel said.

Dean laid down on his face, glad he could cover up the remainder of his boner that wasn’t taking a hint and going away. He heard Castiel’s footsteps again and jerked when his weight settled on his thighs.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked.

“Applying this to your back,” Castiel said. “You may be sensitive.”

Dean heard Castiel rubbing something between his hands. Mint and something sharper that tingled his nose, spread around them. Then Castiel gripped his shoulders, massaging his thumbs into the meat beneath the scales. Dean groaned into the couch and grabbed a throw pillow to sink his teeth into.

“Like I said, sensitive,” Castiel said, continuing to work down his body too slowly.

“Seriously? What the fuck?” Dean asked, turning his face against the pillow and breathing harshly.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I-,” Dean started to say it felt like he was going to blow his load. His tongue was so bitter. Instead he just grunted out, “No.”

“You dried out your scales. Be kind to them and they’ll be kind to you.”

“You were out in the sun all day.”

“Aye, but I put this on myself before. It dried to a glaze that makes them lustrous.”

Dean laughed then it died as he gritted his teeth around Castiel digging his thumbs into his spine. “So vain,” he bit out.

“After this you won’t be able to stop staring at yours.”

Then Castiel slid his fingers into Dean’s clinging black underwear and pulled them down. Dean closed his eyes when he felt his hard-on catch on the band. Castiel slid them down his legs then tossed them off the couch. More sharp bitterness leaked over his tongue and down his throat, like it was leaching out.

“Are you uncomfortable? I can get a towel to put over you. But you need this on your lower scales too.”

“It’s fine.”

Castiel grazed the bare skin on the back of his neck. “You’re turning so red.”

Dean grunted.

Castiel started massaging him again, down his lower back, to his ass. Dean closed his eyes when his fingers curled around his hips barely to rub it in the scales to framed him. He was so hard it hurt. He could feel pre-cum tacking him to the upholstery. He was sweating, his eyes closed, just wanting more. He felt drunk. He was out of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned-on. Maybe that time that Lisa tied him up and didn’t let him touch her or himself then licked his dick and ass for half an hour. This felt worse.

Then Castiel pulled apart his cheeks and rubbed his fingers down into the crease. His eyes shot open only to close again and made himself not move his hips. He made himself not push back toward Castiel or grind down against the couch. Then he brushed his thumb over Dean’s ass. He buried his face into the cushion until it hurt his nose.

Castiel leaned forward and he felt his body over him, not touching, but close enough to tingle.

“We love to be touched, Dean,” Castiel said near his ear. His voice was low and raspy. Dean squeezed his fingers into his own hair. “Your reactions are intended and they’re beautiful.”

They stayed there breathing until Castiel touched his back again.

“You are beautiful.”

Dean turned his face until he could see Castiel’s face only inches from his. The blue movement of his eyes. They were darker though, like when Dean sucked the fish from his fingers last night or when he bit him on the plane. He rolled over with Castiel leaning up enough to let him.

Castiel hadn’t put on a shirt. Dean could just see the hints of blue on the edges of his chest. He reached up and trailed his fingers over them. They weren’t hard like he expected. Well, they were, but they were warm and almost soft they were so smooth. They vibrated beneath his fingers and he looked up to Castiel’s eyes closed and dipping with a quiet rumbling noise.

Dean leaned up, looking down and almost touching Castiel’s lips. They stayed like that, Castiel’s rumbling between them as Dean ran his fingers over his chest and down his stomach where the scales trailed. Then he pressed his lips against his. He could count on his hands how many people he had kissed that softly, like he was afraid of breaking them or something, but he wasn’t.

He was a little afraid of getting broke. He was afraid what Castiel’s stubble would feel like. If his mouth would taste different. If he was going to get cut by his teeth.

He felt the vibration of Castiel’s weird dragon noise through his mouth as he parted his lips and their tongues touched like conducting a current. Then he was knotting his fingers in Castiel’s hair and yanking him down. He did taste different. He started bitter and sweet, like lemons in sugar. It made his mouth water. It made his back tingle. It made his dick like a lead pipe, trapped between Castiel’s hips and his own. The noise he made when Castiel took his lower lip between his teeth and scraped his teeth over it, it was embarrassing.

“Shit, are you serious?” he asked to himself more than Castiel as his orgasm started to clench his balls.

Then Castiel’s hand was wrapped around his dick.

“Don’t. I’m going to. Fuck. Fuck,” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his back.

Castiel’s tongue was in his mouth, licking the points of his canines. Dean kissed him, groaning too loudly into his mouth as he came apart between them.

He lost consciousness for a second. He wasn’t aware of it until he came to again, still breathing hard and Castiel rubbing more of the salve into his chest and down to his groin. Dean stared at the fan circling lazily above him, hearing his heart still pounding, and feeling his mouth still tingling.

“Much better,” Castiel said quietly, putting the wooden container to the side.

Dean looked down at his chest and saw the sun glittering off the patch of scales on his sternum.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. “Jesus.”

Castiel laughed quietly then stood. He took a throw from the back of the couch and laid it over Dean before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“You may need to sleep off the over saturation.”

“Saturation?” Dean asked with his eyes hard to keep open.

“I haven’t give my searc to anyone in a very long time,” he said. “It’s potent when it’s been left to build.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Castiel pressed his finger against Dean’s lip until he parted them. Then he brushed his finger against his canine, then rubbed it against Dean’s lip.

“That is yours. So sweet.”

Dean rolled his lips between his teeth and tasted the bitterness that had been flooding his mouth. He would have more questions. He wanted to ask more, but he felt heavy. Castiel started to move away and Dean grabbed his wrist.

“Yes?”

“I… don’t go.”

Castiel’s already warm eyes softened. He smiled slightly and looked at the couch.

“That’s far too small for me. Come,” he said, pulling him up.

Dean’s head swam. It was a really warm feeling, kind of like weed, kind of, but so much stronger. Kind of like the wine, but not harsh. Maybe like ecstasy, but there wasn’t any urgency about it. He didn’t feel like he was in a hurry. He could feel Castiel’s warmth and he wanted to snuggle into it.

He wanted to fucking cuddle and eventually he was sure that was going to freak him out.

But right then, he let Castiel lead him to his room. Castiel lit the fire with his mouth then crawled into the bowl bed beside Dean. Dean moved in against his arms until he could hear his heart. It pattered differently than his own, slower, more even. He could hear his lungs expanding and contracting.

“Don’t normally cuddle,” he said groggily.

“It will be very hard to forgive you. Very imposing,” Castiel said against his hair.

 “I could taste you.”

Castiel’s low vibrating noise came between them. “What did it taste like?”

“Lemons. Good way though. It was good,” he said, then he started to drift and it came down like bricks.  

***

When Dean woke up, Castiel was gone. He left his room and went to the living room. The sun was still up, but it was quite a bit closer to the horizon as he looked out of the large French doors. Castiel was below in the surf. Dean watched him swim, a dot becoming smaller and smaller until he couldn’t make out the dot that was him from the white caps on the waves.

He went to the kitchen and scavenged through the fridge, which scavenging was kind of ridiculous, because it was stupid full. He picked through cuts of meat that were lean and beautiful, red meats, white, fish. He finally settled on two large slabs of beef and turned on the broiler.

He was peeling potatoes when Castiel came in with water still beaded on his chest.

“I have a peeler in one of those drawers,” Castiel said.

“I like doing it this way,” Dean said, dragging a small knife beneath the brown skin.

“After my own heart,” Castiel said, going to the fridge and taking out a pitcher of water and pouring himself a glass. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

Dean kept his eyes on the potato, finished it and picked up another. He was finished with that one before he glanced at Castiel, who was looking at him.

“What?”

“You’re acting hostile.”

“Yeah and how would you know?”

“I see,” Castiel said, picking up his water and going toward the hall.

“You see what?” Dean called at his back.

Castiel turned back to him. “I won’t force myself to be around you if you want to be caustic. This home is big enough that I don’t have to.”

Dean watched him walk off, then the stove beeped as it heated all the way.

***

Dean ate half of his steak alone, then scraped the rest into the trash. He left Castiel’s on the counter, leaking blood onto the plate around the sear. He went back to his room after and stoked his fire with a small box of matches. Then he laid in the bed and watched the flames until he fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Dean got up before the sun was all the way up and swam. He swam until his muscles burned in that good way, then he laid on the sand propped on his elbows and watched the sunrise. The sky was purple, red, to pink. It crawled slowly higher and he listened to the birds in the trees.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean glanced back at Castiel, standing on the sand in a pair of light pants and shirtless. Dean looked down his chest, down his stomach before he stood up.

“Morning,” he said as he brushed passed him to go back into the house.

***

It was dark and it had been dark for hours before Dean went looking for the library. He was desperate. There wasn’t a TV in his room. He wasn’t going to go into the living room to watch that one and he needed something to do. As much as he liked fire, he was getting bored just watching it. And Castiel was dominating the beach.

He found the library on the second floor. It was the only open door with light spilling out onto the floor and up the opposite wall. He almost walked away when he saw Castiel inside, sitting on a cream colored couch. He glanced up, his blue eyes dark.

“Dean.”

“Hey.”

“Can I help you?” Castiel asked, looking back down at his book.

“Looking for something to read.”

“Well there are plenty,” he said, with a wrinkle popping up between his eyes.

Dean walked in and looked at the shelves bordering the walls. Around the fireplace, around the window, everywhere. He picked up a thin one with a tan cover. It looked like leather. The cover was soft and distressed.

“Soft,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel.

Castiel glanced up. “It’s bound in human skin.”

Dean shoved it back onto the shelf, wiping his hand.

Castiel laughed without humor. “Your binding is human skin. Don’t discriminate.”

“Fucking nasty. Why do you have that?”

“It’s a piece of history. Not all history is beautiful, Dean.”

“Did you kill the bastard it’s made of?”

Castiel propped his cheek on his hand. “Did you come to have an altercation? If so, please do so, so I can choose if I want to stay or go.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said beneath his breath, looking at the books again.

He kept looking down the shelves not wanting to touch anything else. When he made the circle, Castiel closed his book.

“Dean, what are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Something that isn’t fucking huge or maybe made out of people.”

“There are only three made of human skin, and they are in a tongue you would never understand. Many are in Irish, others in Latin. The rest are in English.”

“How am I supposed to know which is which?” Dean asked irritably.

“Open them up,” Castiel said.

“Someone’s pissed off,” Dean said, looking back to the shelves.

“Had you ever kissed a man before?”

Dean turned around and looked at him, frowning. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I asked you a question. Answer it or leave. I don’t have the patience for your sulking.”

“I don’t have to answer anything for you.”

Castiel looked at him. The corners of his mouth were turned down. He looked pissed, but he looked something else too, maybe disappointed. Maybe his feelings were hurt, either way, Dean looked away slightly.

“I have been nothing but kind to you. I would appreciate it, if for once, you could extend that courtesy.”

Dean swallowed and stared at the ground. “I jacked my friend of in high school a few times.”

“I asked if you kissed him.”

“A couple of times.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Dean shrugged and looked toward the fire, then at Castiel. “Maybe. What does it matter?”

“And you enjoyed masturbating with him?”

Dean shuddered. “Makes it sound gross.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah it was alright.”

“Come here.”

Dean glanced toward him then shook his head.

“Please.”

Dean rolled his eyes then went over and sat at the far end of the couch. Castiel laid his book on the ottoman and rested his back in the crease of the arm and back to turn toward Dean.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m sitting right here.”

“I don’t want to play mind games.”

“I’m not.”

Castiel stood and picked up his book then went toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked.

“I won’t argue with you like a child,” Castiel said. He watched Dean for a moment before shaking his head. “For a man who seems to care so little what people think, you have allowed their stigmas to brand you. I didn’t pin you for being so weak.”

Then he walked down the hall and Dean listened to him go.

***

Hours later, Dean crept down the stairs to go to the fridge. He was eating some of the summer sausage that Castiel kept when he heard a page turn. He ate another slice before walking closer to the noise, to the small nook on the other side of a partial wall. Castiel sat in a comfortable looking chair in a room lined with windows, facing the dark ocean.

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

Castiel read, turning another page. Dean watched him, wanting to say something and not knowing where to start.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not,” he grunted and tapped his bare foot on the wood. “I’m not trying to be a dick. Sometimes it just happens.”

“Sometimes?”

Dean went to argue then stopped and tried to apologize, then he saw Castiel smiling partially, watching him as he thought.

“Sit, Dean.”

“I don’t want to bother you reading.”

“You’ve irritated me too much to read.”

Dean smiled, but he was embarrassed as he came to the chair near Castiel and sat with a small table between them. Castiel closed his book and laid it in the lamp light. The title was in a language Dean couldn’t read. The gold lettering catching the light.

“I know I’m hard to be around. I get if I drive you too crazy.”

Castiel snorted quietly. “Don’t flatter yourself. The morning after John and I first made love, he broke my nose.”

Dean laughed, feeling himself relax to see Castiel’s easy smile. “Then I guess you got off easy with me.”

“At least he got it out of the way. He did not play mind games. He got his anger and confusion out with that and we were together again before an hour was gone.”

Dean swallowed and looked down.

“You enjoyed what we did, Dean. You would not have produced searc if you hadn’t. Then you didn’t only produce it, you filled my mouth with it.”

“You drugged me.”

“You drugged yourself. And I would hardly call it drugging. It takes down false inhibitions. If you hadn’t wanted it, mine would not have worked for you.”

Dean couldn’t look at him. Then he heard Castiel stand and snapped his head up.

“Where are you going?”

“Come with me.”

Dean thought about arguing, but in the end, he just stood up and followed. Castiel went into the living room and sat on the couch they were on earlier. He patted the seat just beside him. Dean thought about ignoring him, but that seemed coy or shy, so he just sat right beside him.

Castiel reached behind him and slipped his fingers beneath his shirt before Dean could move away. He trailed his fingers down his lower back and Dean’s eyes closed on their own.

“Come here,” Castiel said quietly, touching his chin with his other hand and pulling him forward.

Dean did, kissing him again, feeling the bitter flavor touch his tongue. Castiel’s fingers worked up his back.

“What about this do you not enjoy? Is it what I am or my gender?” Castiel asked, pulling away enough to speak.

“You ask things so fucking weird,” Dean said.

Castiel kissed him again until Dean was pushing his tongue into his mouth and groaning at the sweetness. Castiel opened his jeans and slipped his fingers down against the patch of scales above Dean’s dick, tracing them with his thumb. It wound into his balls and up to his gut, making so much bitterness fill his mouth it made his heart throb. Castiel’s breath vibrated into his mouth.

“Answer me, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Both. Maybe. Neither. Neither right now.”

Castiel kissed him again, trailing his fingers over Dean’s hard-on. A gust of sweetness dropped onto his tongue then Castiel’s teeth dragged over his lowered lip. A tremble ripped down Dean’s back when Castiel hardly tore the skin.

Castiel pulled away enough to pull his shirt off. His shoulders rolled forward and he pressed his mouth to Dean’s neck, kissing and sucking. Dean heard that rain sound or like a tarp ripping in the wind. He watched Castiel’s wings rise above his back before the flared out and laid against his sides. He reached out while Castiel sucked at his throat. They were like heavy warm leather. He could feel how alive they were between his fingers, a little pulse. Castiel exhaled against his throat, cooling his trail of spit.

“Like that?”

“I adore it,” Castiel said, pressing his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “It’s been so long since they’ve been touched.”

Dean ran his palms over them, the bone running over the top where it peaked then went back down. Castiel’s base noise started to vibrate the air around them before he pushed Dean back on the couch. Dean paused long enough to pull his shirt over his head. One of Castiel’s wings hung around them and the other laid over the back of the couch. Its heat pulsed against Dean’s bare sides. He kissed Castiel hard, swallowing down his own spit and Castiel’s, the bitter with the sweet and Castiel pushed at their clothes until lying fully on top of Dean. Where he had scales and Dean didn’t, like over the majority of his chest, it scraped. And it was fucking amazing. Then the places they both had them, like just above their dicks and on their chest, it was like butter, it vibrated. Then Castiel added that noise, that real vibration and it went straight down into Dean’s chest, feeling like his heart was being massaged, then his mouth was flooded with his own taste and Castiel ground down against him.

“What will you let me do?” Castiel asked.

“Right now I don’t fucking care,” Dean said, pushing his tongue back into his mouth just to taste it.

Castiel squeezed his upper shoulder then kissed down his throat. Dean tilted back his neck and looked at the dim kitchen light through the membrane of the dark wing beside him. He reached out and touched it. It twitched like a horse when a fly landed on it. It was soft like suede on the inside.

Then Castiel pulled them and Dean hit the floor. It wasn’t a long drop, but it knocked his air out right into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel vibrated above him and Dean heard his wings move. He arched back and Dean watched his wings flare back, almost touching the high ceiling before he relaxed again.

“Much better,” he said, then he started kissing down Dean’s body again.

If Dean wasn’t drowning in the own leaking in his mouth, he would’ve made fun of Castiel, because he had looked a lot like a cat just then. But then his dick was in the soft spongy heat of Castiel’s mouth and he forgot about it.

He propped up with his elbows digging into the rug beneath them and watched Castiel drag his mouth up and down. Dean had internet. He had seen cheesy drawings of shit like this. Bad porn of cartoon people with wings, overly large eyes, spikey animated hair. He never would have thought that seeing it for real, the black leather of Castiel’s wings, the stubble along his jaw, the pink of his chapped lips, his dark hair frayed from his fingers,  those blue eyes so dark they were black, he never would’ve thought that sight would almost do him in.

Then Castiel pulled off, a trail of spit or the other stuff connecting his mouth to Dean’s dick, until he drug his tongue over it and sucked the tip again.

“Do you want me to?” Dean asked.

“No,” Castiel said, pushing up his legs then licking into his ass.

Dean jerked and tried to get away before Castiel’s fingers tightened on his hips.

“Shit,” Dean said. “Weird, that’s weird,” he said, panting at the ceiling.

Then the tingling started, like someone had rubbed mint on his ass. Castiel started doing his weird noise and Dean gripped the rug, trying not to shake. He tried to scoot back, away from the intenseness, but Castiel held him still. Dean was not proud of the noises coming out of his mouth. He didn’t know when his voice went up so many octaves. Maybe it was mandatory. Maybe it was a must for your voice to not sound like gravel when there was a tongue in your ass. He didn’t know, but that’s what was happening.

When he thought he was going to lose it, Castiel kissed up his inner thigh. Dean saw his lip wrinkle the moment before he bit into the flesh. The sight of it made his dick throb. The pain of it was the only thing that kept him from losing it and even that almost pushed him over. He felt that warmth again, like the other night when he was freaking out, but it didn’t go where it went last time.

It went right to his groin, to his ass. His ass felt hot. It felt achy. He jerked up and started to pull away. Castiel caught his ankle, kneeling.

“Dean.”

Dean pushed his fingers below his balls and felt the moisture. It felt slick.

“Dude, that’s spit, right?”

“I told you there would be changes, Dean,” Castiel said.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean asked, with his voice going up.

He pushed further down then almost passed out when his finger slipped inside of himself. It was like fingering a chick. Warm, wet, and soft, like it was lined in velvet. He couldn’t help his eyes closing. It was still tingling and that felt fucking amazing.

Castiel came closer then pushed Dean’s hand out of the way.

“This will feel better,” he said.

Dean dug his nails into Castiel’s shoulders, feeling them hardly dent the scales, so he moved them up to his neck. They caught in his skin and Castiel pushed his dick against him, sinking passed his ring.

He had read about anal. More than he would like to admit. He knew how it was supposed to hurt. How you were supposed to get prepped and all that shit. That didn’t happen and it didn’t hurt. It felt like a lot of things, things that were making his toes curl and his fingers clench and unclench, but not pain. Castiel leaned forward to kiss him, not laying him back. His dick moved inside Dean and he heard how wet it was.

Dean gripped the soft hair was the base of Castiel’s neck and clenched his teeth. Castiel kissed his jaw, moving shallowly.

“If I’m hurting you please tell me to stop,” Castiel said against his ear with his breathing ragged. 

Dean twisted Castiel’s head and shoved their mouths together, biting his lip until he broke skin. Castiel slammed them into the ground. Dean gripped him forcing himself back on him, squeezing his thigh he could feel moving, until he knew it would bruise. Castiel bent his legs forward until he was forcing Dean’s knees to his chest and started pounding into him. They couldn’t kiss, but they didn’t need to. His mouth tingled with how much they’d passed between each other, his throat too. His heart felt like it had been dipped in it, not in a romantic way, but like eating buffalo wings. But not really painful.

Castiel said something in his language. Something deep and guttural that he couldn’t have understood even if he knew it. Then Dean was jerking between them, cumming without being touched like he was in 8th grade again.

Then warmth was in his ass. He groaned when he realized what it was. Later, he might flip shit about it, about letting a guy cum in him, but right then, he was turned on enough that it just sounded and felt amazing. Castiel’s fingers digging into his bones while he rode out his climax was perfect and it was dominating, and it was fucking sexy.

Later, Dean Winchester, hunter and bad ass, was going to have a grade-A freak out, he even knew that laying there.

But then, he felt good to just be under someone, someone who for a few seconds, was using him for what they needed and he didn’t have to think, because Castiel wouldn’t hurt him. Right then, he just pushed his forehead against the side of Castiel’s face and let himself be squeezed while Castiel cussed quietly in a language Dean didn’t know.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel ran his fingers through the back of Dean’s hair and watched the fire burning lower. The windows of Dean’s bedroom were open, but the blankets were heated from the flames. He listened to Dean’s heart beat and felt his breathing against his chest. It was slowly coming to consciousness. He enjoyed the sweet quiet while he could.

Dean turned with his eyes still closed, dragging his lips over his skin. He opened his mouth and kissed before licking softly. Castiel felt his own lungs vibrating, like they were filled with fluttering bees. It was a soothing feeling. One he had missed so much since the golden plated hotel elevator where he kissed John for the last time.  

Then Dean opened his eyes and it would have been comical if Castiel hadn’t been enjoying his warmth. His eyes went wider by increments, his mouth dropped open, and he scrambled backwards over the blankets. His hand went straight down between his legs to push at his hole.

“Holy shit,” Dean said. “Jesus Christ.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, moving forward.

Dean jerked backwards until he hit the edge of the bed. Castiel stopped. He expected it to be easier this time, knowing what he needed to do. He had seen John wake up, the humiliation and fear written on his features before he hit him. Instead, it was crippling. Then he hadn’t known if it could work anymore than John had. Now his throat ached and his heart did. This could be wonderful. He would devote himself to making Dean happy if only he would let him, but all that was on his face was revulsion and confusion ingrained from a society that Castiel did not understand.

“Please stay and ask you questions. Be angry if that’s what you need, but stay and speak to me.”

“My ass just turned into a fucking swamp!”

Castiel frowned. “You are so unbelievably eloquent.”

Dean dropped his face into his hands, dragging his knees up to his chest. He groaned and it was muffled around his palms. Castiel’s chest throbbed slightly. He attempted to push it away.

“I warned you there would be changes,” he said again.

“You didn’t tell me my ass was going to turn into your fuck toy,” Dean yelled.

“Stop making everything so vulgar,” Castiel said irritably. “When you changed-.”

“No. I don’t want to-.”

“ _Stad_ ,” Castiel said as Dean started to stand. His knees locked and he dropped back down into the bed. “I’ll explain then you can go wherever you’d like, I’ll pay for your journey, but you will be quiet and listen to me.”

“Well I don’t really have a fucking choice, do I?”

Castiel frowned but began again. “When you were blessed-.”

Dean snorted.

“There were many changes other than the scales,” he continued. “I can’t tell you all of them, because I don’t know them. I do know that you took a few of our features, like being susceptible to our poison and being able to produce a varying vintage of your own.”

“And what does the fucking poison do?”

“Many things,” Castiel said. His throat ached. He remember John asking that in the sweet accent of their home. He had let Castiel show him, biting the different areas of his body over weeks, letting him do the same. “Sometimes it’s calming. Sometimes it stimulates your body so you can be penetrated without pain, sometimes it’s other things. It isn’t dangerous, Dean.”

“How would you know?” Dean asked, breathing heavily, squeezing the blankets in his fists.

“With my first love I preferred to be below him. The bite wounds heal within hours the effects wear off the same.”

“Did he poison you before he fucked you?” Dean yelled again. It made Castiel’s sensitive ears ring.

A flash of heat went through his chest. He swallowed ad tried to quail it.

“No.”

“I bet he fucking did. I bet he did the same way you raped the other poor bastard,” Dean said.

“Dean,” he warned.

“Is that just what you pieces of shit do?”

His face was twisted into something disgusting, a mask that matched the bile of his words. Another flash of heat twisted down into Castiel’s chest, the kind he had not felt since the burning forest covered in snow. Pure acridness pooled in the pockets of his mouth.

Castiel climbed from the bed, taking his underwear from beside it and pulling them on. He went toward the door and felt the pulsing of his heart in the back of his throat. He allowed his words to lose their meaning as he went toward the door. He was aware of Dean yelling, but his mind was turning in on itself to muddy it. Then like coming up through waves, he heard it.

“I’m not going to roll over and be a bitch whore like them,” Dean said.

Castiel grabbed him by his shoulder and slammed him into the wall. He could feel his own breathing, forcibly deep shaking into his lungs. He barred his arm across Dean’s throat, pushing until his face was red.

“You do not speak about them. Not ever,” he said.

Dean shoved at his arm, clawing and Castiel watched the fear rising in his eyes, the smell of it seeping from his skin. Bitter, sweaty. He could nearly taste the snow on the air, smell char as war smoke fluttered debris around them, fire reflected in blue eyes surrounded by a red puffy face as Russian trees burned.

He shoved against Dean’s throat before walking away.  

***

Hours later, when Castiel knew Dean was on the beach, he left a note, the keys to the Jeep, and more money than Dean could possibly need on the bar in the kitchen. Then he went back to his library and closed the door.

***

Dean walked into the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel and saw the thick envelope on the counter. He picked up the note, the Jeep’s keys sliding from it and clattering onto the bar.

_Dean,_

_Take the Jeep to the airport. It is fueled and waiting. The money is for your travel. Lis will let you in to the estate when you return to the mainland. She will have your car fueled and waiting._

_Take care._

Dean stared at the note before he picked up the envelope and looked inside. Two thousand dollars was inside with a few bills in a currency he didn’t recognize. He threw it on the bar and drug his hand down his face.

***

It was dark when Castiel heard Dean’s footsteps outside of the library door. He listened to the crackling of the fire beside him until there was a soft click and the door opened.

“Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean said. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, going back to his book.

Dean stood in the doorway with a hand in his pocket and the other hanging at his side. Not able or unwilling to raise his eyes.

“I’m sorry about earlier. It just freaked me out, you know and I didn’t handle it well. I didn’t mean-.”

“You’re fine, Dean.”

Castiel looked down at the words in his native tongue and tried to piece them into a semblance of something he could understand. His teeth leaked bile onto his tongue, like they had since their altercation, at least the waves of heat had lessened and numbness was descending to overtake it.

“So this is it?” Dean asked, sounding somewhat indignant.

“I thought that we could help each other, but I was mistaken. I am unleveled and you are caustic.”

“Look at me, man.”

Castiel looked up and waited. There were splotches of color on Dean’s cheeks beneath his reddish brown freckles. Castiel leaned back in his chair and closed his book.

“You said,” Dean said then turned and looked toward the fireplace before rolling his shoulders. “Isn’t it like sacrilegious or something to throw out something your god did?”

He said god like it was something dirty and Castiel’s teeth continued to leak.

“Even gods can be mistaken,” Castiel said.

“I don’t,” Dean trailed then groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I don’t think he was.”

Castiel looked at Dean until Dean looked away.

“Dean, I am sick of this. Your mental climate varies so drastically from moment to moment.”

“I’ve kind of been going through a lot of shit, Cas,” Dean said irritably.

“All brought on yourself.”

“On myself? Are you kidding me?”

“No. You came into my house, you were blessed, and unfortunately now I have to deal with your mood swings. You’re like a toddler. I can’t cope with that.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Castiel watched the shadow as it pitted. “I can try-.”

“Dean, I do not want to cope with you.”

Dean nodded, looking at the floor then started to walk away. He didn’t make it a step before he touched his face again. Castiel’s heart twinged at the glassiness of Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, I get that,” he said then he cleared his throat. “But I’ve, I’ve felt a lot better here than I have in a long time. So thanks for that. And I’m sorry about how I’ve been and I’m sorry for what I said earlier. That wasn’t right, Cas. I know how much you love them and I was being a piece of shit. I’m sorry. I’ll leave in the morning.”

Then he walked away and Castiel watched him go. He watched the darkness of the hallway long after Dean had gone.

***

Hours after, Castiel stood outside of Dean’s bedroom door. He looked back the way he came. His mouth tasted bitter and dry, but the leaking had quieted. The heat flashes had subsided. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inhaling deeply.

Then he exhaled and opened the door. Dean was a lump toward the edge of his nest. Castiel stepped inside and closed it quietly. Dean rolled over and looked at him.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

Castiel took off his shirt then moved into the bed, laying down on his back. He laid still with his arm behind his head. He would have thought Dean had fallen asleep if he didn’t hear the elevation of his heartbeat behind the emerald casing of his scales. The blankets rustled before he felt Dean’s breath against his neck then the press of his lips. Castiel gripped him by the back of his hair and tugged him back until he could look into his eyes.

“Is this what you want?”

Dean went to nod, but Castiel’s hand kept him from being able to. “Yeah.”

“I can’t deal with another tantrum.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quietly, with a sincerity in his voice Castiel had never heard.

Castiel looked down into his eyes. Looking at the light crossing them then he pulled Dean to him and kissed him. Dean opened his mouth and touched his face. His hands were so warm. It felt so good to be touched. Then he rolled Dean beneath him. The flavor of Dean’s searc was soaked on his tongue. There was bitterness. Fear. Anxiety. Then there was a sweetness, like apples and pastry layered over the flavor that was Dean. It soaked into the blood vessels in his mouth and he felt the warmth of it begin to suffuse into his brain, easing him.

Dean kissed his cheek, his jaw, down his throat.

“Lay back,” Dean said.

Castiel did and watched Dean kiss down his stomach. The pressure of his mouth passed down into his scales. The light caught of the wetness of Dean’s tongue as he licked small paths down his body. Castiel ran his fingers through Dean’s hair then Dean pulled down his pants. Like most things Dean did, he did it quickly and without a great deal of finesse. He dropped his mouth over Castiel’s dick and gagged, then went down and gagged again.

He had had better. Of course he had, but having his cock in someone’s mouth again was a wonderful feeling. Too wonderful. He pulled Dean off before he ruined his stamina.

“Get on your knees,” Castiel said.

Dean’s back moved beautifully beneath him, lit along each curve of his muscle. The remaining tension like ropes along his spine. Castiel leaned forward, covering his body with his own and kissed along his throat. When Dean angled his chin, he took it as confirmation even it wasn’t before sinking his teeth just beneath his skin.

He felt the rumble beneath his back then the stretch and give of his own skin as his wings came out and he pressed into Dean. Dean dropped his chest to the blankets then pushed back. Castiel held his hips and listened to his noises growing more relaxed,, more pleasurable as the searc took hold and his worries lessened.

Then he watched Dean reach out and take the edge of his wing between his fingers, holding the soft skin of it. Castiel leaned down into the curve of Dean’s body and pulled him up so they were sealed together.

“No more of this,” Castiel said against his ear.

“Promise,” Dean grunted. “Harder, Cas.”

When they finished, Castiel pulled Dean back to him, still feeling his body labored beneath his breathing and the moisture of their friction clinging to the scales of his back. He could smell Dean’s blood beneath the thin layer of his skin, filled with endorphins and their combined mixture. He kept himself from making a small puncture and just pressed his nose to the curve of his neck, where it joined his shoulder.

“Not going to send me away?” Dean asked, around his breathing.

“No, not while you want to stay,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean nodded then pressed his cheek into Castiel’s arm beneath his neck.

“I’m going to get better about it. Promise.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Dean fell asleep in his arms, but Castiel stayed awake, looking at the blankets. It may not be his nest, but he was sharing it for the first time with someone he did not love and while Dean was warm against his chest, his heart ached.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rough with edits. I'll go through and update what I fix.

The next morning, Castiel dressed in his bedroom, buttoning his white shirt over his chest.

“Cas?” Dean asked at the doorway.

Castiel looked back toward him.

“Did you want to go down and swim or something?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, looking down at his own chest. There was a chip in his scales with ragged edges, below it there was darkened skin with a blue hue. “Have you ever been to La Spezia?”

“What is that? Wine or something?”

Castiel laughed quietly. “I’ll take that as a no. Go pack your things.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve had my fill of the sea. Have you?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess.”

“Meet me downstairs when you’re ready. There should be bags in your closet.”

“Uh, alright.”

He felt Dean lingering and looked back again. He ran his fingers back through his blonde hair, the sunlight through the window touching the highlights that had been brought out by salt water and sunbathing. It had tanned his face, bringing out the pleasant brown of his freckles.

“Are we alright?” Dean asked.

Castiel smiled without showing his teeth, “We’re fine, Dean.”

Dean nodded then gave a forced smile. “Good. Awesome.”

An hour later, the house on its stilts was swallowed by the trees in the Jeep’s rearview mirrors and Castiel was not sorry for it at all.

***

Dean watched out of the airplane windows when they finally started passing over land. They were low enough to see cliffs and waves smashing against them, towns of different colored buildings, and tons of green hills.

“What country is that?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked up from a newspaper and out of the windows. “Italy.”

“Is that where we’re going?”

“Yes. We should be landing in less than an hour.”

“Cool.”

Castiel had bitten him on the shoulder when the plane took off and he still felt like his nerves were made of jelly.  He leaned back and looked at Castiel across from him. Occasionally the corner of his mouth turned down just a fraction and he shook his head at what he read. Dean smiled slightly to see it.

“Bad news?”

Castiel glanced up and shook his head. “No more than any other time. Humans are really just temperamental little creatures.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Do you ride?”

Dean sat up slightly frowning. “Uh, like? What do you mean?”

“Motorcycles,” Castiel laughed.

“No. Kind of. Not a lot.”

“I see,” Castiel said.

“Why?”

“I prefer to be on a motorcycle in these cities. The streets are small, but the roads are curving.”

“Yeah that’d be fine.”

“Not if you haven’t ridden often. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. We’ll take a car,” Castiel said and took a phone from his pocket.

When they landed, Dean followed Castiel off the plane. This airport was busier than the other two they had been to. Four planes like the small one they got off of were to the side. There was a large hangar to the side and a tower. But there was only one car. It was silver and all glittering smooth angles. Dean didn’t know exotics well, but he knew the horse on the front grille.

“Jesus, Cas.”

Castiel turned back putting on a pair of dark glasses. He smiled when he saw Dean’s expression. “Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome. What is it?”

“An F12.”

Castiel pulled a small black fob from his pocket. “Would you like to drive it?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Castiel tossed him the fob and Dean caught it going to the driver’s side. He opened the door and whistled low at the black interior and seats that look like they were designed by NASA. It wasn’t like the seating position of his Impala, he sank down into it, like a cockpit.

“These will keep you from getting a headache,” Castiel said, taking out another pair of sunglasses from the console.

Dean put on the glasses and looked down at the console for a gear shift.

“The paddles behind the wheel, pull the right,” Castiel said.

Dean did and pressed on the gas. The car purred forward and Dean grinned. Castiel rolled down the window and put his arm on the edge of the door. As he was turning, Dean saw the words etched on the glass and metal hangar.

_Novak Personal Airlines_

“Holy shit, this is yours?”

“The car? Yes.”

“No, that,” he said, pointing toward the hangar.

“The airplanes? Yes.”

Dean laughed. “You’re hardheaded.”

Castiel smiled, the bright sunlight catching the small sliver of whiteness on his teeth. “Yes. This is a portion of some of my income.”

“Can you fly?”

“I can.”

There was a way that his mouth turned up when he said that that made Dean kind of smile too. Then he thought of the black sheet of his wings and looked away to concentrate on driving. Castiel gave him directions. They left the radio off with only the sound of the wind coming in the windows and the perfect smooth exhaust note of the V12 when Dean laid on the gas.

***

“Holy shit. It’s like a color by number,” Dean said, looking out of the suite window to the buildings surrounding them.

The street below was filled with people. The buildings all around them pink, yellow, blue, purple. It looked more like places in South America he had seen on travel shows in motel rooms that smelled of piss and takeout. 

“It’s colorful. I thought we could stay here tonight then go to Rome tomorrow.”

“Rome?”

“Unless you didn’t want to.”

“Are you kidding? Yeah I want to.”

“Good. First I need to shower. Your driving made me sweat,” Castiel said, starting to unbutton his shirt as he want toward the bathroom.

“Need some company?” Dean asked.

Castiel smiled without showing his teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

He went in and closed the door. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and heard the shower turn on. His mouth started tasting slightly bitter and he started to put it together that it was his teeth leaking that stuff that it did when he got turned on. But apparently it did it when he was stressed out too, which was just a pain in the ass. He was almost drowning on it by the time Castiel came into his room last night.

Castiel was in bed this morning when he woke up. He smiled and they kissed, but it wasn’t right. The corners of his mouth turned up and the edges of his eyes, but it didn’t touch his actual eyes. It didn’t make him look happy. Dean’s chest and stomach churned with acid.

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll just,” he squeezed the edges of the mattress and exhaled hot breath through his nose. “get it together. Don’t be a dick. People aren’t dicks all the time. I can do that.”

He mumbled it all beneath his breath, jumbled together so that no one would know what he had said. It used to drive Sam and his dad crazy, but it made him feel better and by the time the shower turned off, his mouth tasted less soured.

***

Dean coughed around the warm red wine. It coated his tongue fat and stagnant with flat warmth. He shook his head as he swallowed and Castiel laughed across the table from him.

“That’s rank, Cas.”

“It isn’t sweet like you’re used to.”

“What’s in yours anyway?” Dean asked, wiping his mouth on his hand.

“I’ll let you make it with me one day,” Castiel said.

“Really? Smashing grapes and stuff?”

Castiel smiled. “Some.”

“Sweet,” Dean said, picked up his glass of water, sweating in the heat.

A few yards away, people danced. Mutli-colored Christmas lights that matched the buildings all around them glinted off their clothes. A few of their shirts and dresses were brightly colored, but many were matte and plain. Everyone looked happy, smiling and laughing, moving together. Dean picked up his glass of wine and made himself gulp it. It made right behind his ears warm as he stood up.

“Wanna dance?”

“Do you dance?” Castiel asked with his slow smile that went right to Dean’s crotch.

“So good it’s ridiculous.”

“How can I say no to that?” Castiel asked, giving his hand to Dean and standing.

It did feel weird, pulling a guy out onto the dance floor, especially one that looked like Castiel. His shirt was unbuttoned just low enough to not show his scales. With his nice dark jeans and shoes that were obviously expensive, it somehow looked casual and sexy, and more refined than Dean even knew how to come close to.

When they were in the middle of the people, he slid his hand around his back. He heard Castiel’s purr noise before he reached his waist and held him at the curve of his torso. The music was live and loud pouring off a small stage.

He felt Castiel’s hips start to move, the slither right up his back muscles. Dean started to move back, the stuff he would do in the bars they found on the side of the road, or dives in the seedy areas of cities. Castiel caught his hips and slowed them, directing them with his hands.

“The music isn’t so frantic,” Castiel said, looking at him.

The lights played on his eyes, orange on blue, pink, green, yellow, all on deep dark blue. Then he wondered what they would look like on Castiel’s body, if he would look like a snake under all those lights. He wondered what he would look like beneath them. What they would look like together.

Castiel laughed quietly, moving their bodies until Dean didn’t realize how easily they were going. It felt so smooth. He could feel his dick starting to stiffen, hidden behind dark denim.

“I do love the way your heart leaps out of your eyes. All your thoughts laid out for me to see,” Castiel said.

Dean looked away smiling and feeling his cheeks heat up like a school boy. “Do I make it that easy?”

“Nothing about you is easy, Dean,” Castiel said. His voice was more vibration than sound below the noise of the music.

The songs kept going and it didn’t seem to matter. The crowds stayed the same, maybe other people came to replace others, but he wasn’t paying attention. He could feel the warmth of Castiel’s palm on his back, or moving up to his shoulders, or down just to graze the top of his ass. They drank more, but it didn’t hit Dean like Castiel’s wine. It didn’t even hit him like normal drinking used to.

It made Castiel smile more, though and Dean felt like a snake with a charmer. He was held by it pathetically. When the crowd finally started to thin, long after midnight, and many bottles of wine later, Dean stood with Castiel on the floor. He stood close enough to him to feel his breath on his face.

“I need to do something,” Dean said.

Castiel said nothing, so Dean slipped the first button on his shirt. He pulled it away and looked at the lights flashing on Castiel’s scales. There was a small ragged patch split from his scales, gray frayed edges. He grazed it with his fingertips.

Castiel leaned forward until Dean couldn’t see it anymore. The lights were shut off and Dean’s eyes pulsed with the dark for a moment as they adjusted and all he could smell was Castiel’s skin.

“That's enough movement with our clothes on than I can take,” Castiel said.

Dean kissed him, holding his face. No one knew him here. No one knew he was Dean Winchester and holding Castiel’s face, in some place he couldn’t pronounce the name of, he didn’t need whatever was starting to come out of his teeth, he felt comfortable. Like he didn’t need to be anyone he wasn’t. Castiel kissed him back.

When they made it back to the hotel, it was messy and quick. Castiel over his back again, rocking against him. Dean put his head on Castiel’s chest after, feeling his heart beating, his lungs moving, and feeling that his body was still stiff, even running his fingers through Dean's hair and that purring noise almost silent.

***

Rome was awesome. They took a train and Dean watched the land whizzing by changing. In the city, Castiel took them on legionary roads. He wasn’t even much of a history buff, but it was amazing to walk on roads so old.

“Did you ever go here?” Dean asked, pointing at the coliseum, rising above them and glowing in lights.

“Aye. More and I came a handful of times. We would stay during festivals.”

“More?”

“Taymore.”

“Gotcha. You saw gladiators and stuff?”

“I did.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean smiled, squeezing Castiel’s hand that he rarely let go of.

Castiel lifted his hand and kissed his thumb. They ate in restaurants Dean couldn’t pronounce the names of. Castiel had to read him the menu and mostly just ordered for both of them. It was kind of irritating at first, but Castiel always picked great each time, so he got over it. The best was one of the most popular in the city. It was run by a dragon and Dean almost came in his pants eating the steak that tasted like it was still kicking.

“I take you to the best restaurants and you feed me street food,” Castiel said, as Dean pulled a chunk of meat from a skewer from a cart, wrapped in some kind of fried bread. It was buttery and delicious even if the meat was way over done. Feeling Castiel’s lips sealed around his fingers made it better.

“It’s good, though, right?”

Castiel chewed, then nodded. “The bread is delicious. The meat is like leather.”

The vendor grunted in Italian and Dean laughed as Castiel smiled, taking his hand and walking away.  

“Castiel?”

Dean turned when Castiel did. A tall pale guy was coming toward them. His chest looked solid as a brick shithouse even through a black wool coat. Castiel laughed then walked toward him, holding out his arms. The guy hugged him, a full hug, wrapping his arms around his back. Dean saw him smile before his face was against Castiel’s neck.

Dean glanced away, but his eyes came right back. Castiel held the man by his shoulders and kissed his cheek, close to his mouth before doing the other side. The man rubbed Castiel between his shoulders before dropping his hand.

“It’s been ages, my friend,” the man said with his voice dripping with an accent Dean didn’t recognize.

“Aye, it has. Too long. How are you?”

“I’m well. I’m living here for the winter. It’s much better than Moscow.”

“Any place is better than Moscow,” Castiel said.

“And your tongue will get you into trouble.”

“It has gotten me out of it too,” Castiel said.

Dean’s gut churned at the way the guy looked at Castiel when he said that. His eyes glazed just a little bit and he touched Castiel’s upper arm again. Then Castiel turned toward Dean.

“Nikon, this is Dean. Dean, this is Nikon.”

“The Russian?” Dean asked, holding out his hand.

“I am the Russian now?” Nikon asked, looking at Castiel as he held his hand out toward Dean. Dean shook it.

“I also said you are a very dear friend.”

“Ah, there it is,” Nikon said smiling again. Then he finally looked at Dean, whose hand he still held. “Well met, Dean.”

“Yeah, same.”

“We were just going for lunch, could you join us?” Castiel asked.

“I would, but I was going to my hotel to nap,” Nikon said.

Castiel laughed. “I’m still not worth sacrificing your sleep for?”

“No one is worth that,” Nikon said. “But I would love to take dinner with you, both of you.”

“We would love that,” Castiel said. “Come to our hotel when you wake.”

“Of course,” Nikon said, then he looked into Castiel’s eyes again and smiled. “It is so good to see you well.”

Castiel hugged him again. When they pulled away the man took his face and kissed him on the mouth. It was firm, but it didn’t seem sexual, maybe it was a Russian thing. He didn’t know. When he walked away, Dean watched him.  

                                                                           ***

“You will enjoy him,” Castiel said, as they took the elevator down to the lobby.

“I’m sure. He seems like a nice guy,” Dean said, messing with the buttons of his suit jacket that Castiel had had him fitted.

“He is wonderful.”

Dean tried to squash the jealously. Then Castiel’s hand was on his cheek as he leaned in to kiss him.

“I couldn’t have chosen a better one of my kind for you to first meet,” Castiel said.

Dean smiled then kissed him again.

Dean walked with Castiel’s hand in his down the sidewalk and Nikon on the other side. He had a quiet laugh like Castiel’s. They laughed a lot. They talked about people he didn’t know, and places he didn’t know. Sometimes they even talked in languages he didn’t know. He couldn’t lie and say it didn’t piss him off, make him jealous, it did. But seeing Castiel laugh so much was sweet. It was almost worth it.

***

Dean walked into the hotel room in front of Castiel and went toward the shower. It felt like the garlic and olive oil from the restaurant was hanging on him, like it had gotten down into his pores. He took off his jacket and laid it over the back of the chair, then went toward the bathroom.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. Good guy,” Dean said, turning on the shower and cutting off Castiel’s next question.

He stepped in then heard Castiel coming into the room, his bare feet on the tile. He opened the glass stall, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Will you take a bath with me instead?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

When the tub was filled Dean sat on Castiel’s lap and kissed him. The humidity of the room clung to their scales and he kissed his throat, feeling his pulse. When Castiel kissed him, he pulled away and shook his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t be jealous,” Castiel said quietly. “He is a dear friend, but that is all.”

“I’m not-.”

“I can taste it,” Castiel said, kissing him again. “I will spend time with him while I can, but don’t be jealous. You have my word.”

Dean swallowed and looked down, touching Castiel’s chest before looking up. “Do you guys have a one person monogamy thing?”

“We are monogamous,” he said against his ear. “I am monogamous with you.”

Dean tried to ignore the way they had looked at each all night, all those inside jokes, and laughter. He tried to ignore what he knew about Castiel and Nikon and all the people that they knew between each other that he didn’t. How handsome he was. Black hair, glazed with gray ends like snow. He tried to, but it didn’t work, not with that distance he felt that was somehow intangible in Castiel’s face even after they had sex. He locked it all down, because he’d be damned if he was going to get on Castiel’s bad side again. He could suck it up and do whatever Castiel wanted for just a little bit. Not forever, but a little bit. Just for awhile. 

***

“I bought you an international cell phone,” Castiel said, the next day giving it to Dean. “I programmed my own number into it. Call whoever you like.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said.

“I’ll be back within a few hours.”

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, leaning back on the bed.

“To visit with Nikon. Go where you like, see what you like. The card I gave you will work wherever. Don’t worry about a limit.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Have fun.”

Castiel leaned down and kissed between his eyes with a hand on back of his head. “It’s a beautiful city. Don’t leave yourself in this room. I’ll find you later.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Castiel squeezed the back of his neck then smiled before leaving. Once, he watched his high school girlfriend, Lisa, walk off with the quarterback of the football team. It made that same twisting feeling in his stomach, but he hadn’t sat on it then. He grabbed Lisa’s best friend and made out with her in the back of the Impala until two of his fingers smelled like her. Now he sat there and tried to make his insides shut the fuck up.

***

Castiel put down his kickstand of his Ducati on the gravel shoulder and walked to the low stone wall. Nikon sat down and Castiel sat beside him, sitting his helmet beside his leg. A cloud moved over the sun, scattering beams of light over the fields. Lambs were far into the field they blatted and ran back to their mothers as the wind shifted and took his and Nikon’s scent straight to them.

“How are you, my friend?” Nikon asked.

Castiel frowned and shook his head. Nikon didn’t ask as a civility. It was refreshing and upsetting.

“Your cara seems lovely.”

Castiel shook his head as unexpected and sharp heat built in his eyes. Nikon put his hand on his back and rubbed through the leather.

“But he isn’t John.”

“No, he isn’t,” Castiel said.

“I still think of him daily.”

“Aye.”

Castiel inhaled shakily and let his head hang, closing his eyes.

“Then Dean has the most volatile mood swings. There are moments that he is sweet and open. Then he closes up so tightly into a man I would never want to be with. Those moments all I want to do is hold John. I miss his voice. I miss the way he spoke.”

Nikon’s hand moved over his back, then he took Castiel’s chin and tilted it up. His eyes were gray and green and moved like stream water. They did so more when they were filmed with emotion.

“No one, apart from you, loved him more in this world, but you are doing him no favors by romanticizing his memory,” Nikon said quietly.

“I’m not-.”

“He was one of the moodiest men I had ever met,” Nikon said smiling faintly. “His temper ran so hot I’m surprised he did not burn you.”

“He was nothing like this.”

Nikon brushed his jaw and Castiel leaned into it. “When you told him if he went to fight with the Americans in the Great War you would not allow him back into your house, he slept in the guest house for two weeks. I have never seen a man give a drunken tirade quite so passionately.”

Castiel laughed around the knot in his throat. “He did them well.”

“You laugh now, but both of you didn’t find it funny then. I would listen to you cuss him in the main house then go to hear him cuss you. I still don’t know how you resolved it, but I heard the side effects.”

“I found a way to compromise his morals.”

Nikon slid his hand up and ran his hand over his hair. “He was so beautiful and he loved you like you rose the sun every morning and put it to bed every night. He did not deserve to die. But more, you did not deserve to lose him. He should still be warming your bed.”

Castiel looked down as large tears broke the rims of his eyes and went down his wind-chilled face. Nikon brushed one of them away, smearing the coolness over his cheek.

“But he isn’t,” Nikon said gently, but it still hurt and Castiel felt his mouth tremble as his chest shook. “He’s Above with More and they’ll take you with open arms when you pass, but you have to put your heart into life. You know that.”

Castiel nodded, but squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids as hard tears came out around his constricted throat.

“God, I miss him.”

“I know,” Nikon said and squeezed him more tightly. 

***

When the bedroom door came open, Dean rolled over.

“Hey, Cas.”

He moved onto the bed then he was over him, breathing on his face. Dean could smell the wine on his breath, sweet. Dean leaned up to kiss him, tasting how sweet it smelled and a full gush of Castiel’s poison leaked into his mouth. He kissed him harder, licking it from his tongue.

Castiel rolled him over and brought him on top. Dean closed his eyes and Castiel leaned up, kissing the side of his neck. His skin tingled and he could feel his breathing on it. He could smell his body, like smoldering ember and salt. It was masculine and deep. He pressed his nose down against his neck and breathed in like it was the first time he had ever filled his lungs completely.

“I want to know how you move,” Castiel said against his lips.

Dean looked down and felt his tongue dry out as a gust of liquid filled his mouth. Castiel’s dark eyes looked up in to his so dark and confident. He didn’t know how he was so sure. It smoldered off of him. It shook him down to his core and it felt like it was starting to build him back up while he breathed in his smell.

“I don’t know how to do it. Do I have to bite you?”

“It will be better if you do.”

“How do I, you know?”

“Think of pushing into me,” Castiel said, then leaned up, holding the back of Dean’s neck with his lips against his ear. “Think of me wet and giving to you. Think of how badly I want you.”

“Where do I bite you?”

“Anywhere you want,” Castiel said.

Dean closed his eyes and Castiel kept kissing his neck then down to his chest. He sucked his nipple into his mouth. His back arched and he lost his breath. He imagined it, Castiel rolling beneath him, being inside of him, feeling how warm he was. He tasted it change. Then he leaned down and kissed Castiel’s neck.

“I’m going to, okay?”

“Now.”

Dean pushed his teeth into him, slowly. Castiel’s purr got louder. It went deeper. Then he growled, vibrating Dean’s lips, his teeth, then he tasted blood. It shot down his back, into his spine, his dick. He was already hard, but now it pulsed. He bit deeper and bucked down his hips immediately, like instinct. Castiel brought up his hips and he sank into his body perfectly.

Castiel wound his fingers into his hair and pulled.

“Move, Dean.”

Dean pulled away from his neck and looked down at his face. Dean Winchester didn’t wait to have sex with people. If he wanted to fuck a girl, he was probably going to do it by the end of the night, if not, he wrote them off.

Now he realized why maybe he didn’t. His heart was liquefying. It was puddling into his chest. His eyes were so intense, nothing like any girl he had sex with. Nothing like a human. He was so beautiful. So beautiful.

“So are you,” Castiel said against his mouth.

For a second Dean thought Castiel had read his mind before his heard himself mumbling against lips. He felt so hot and warm.

“Cas, this isn’t going to last long.”

“Please, Dean, please.”

It wasn’t begging in any voice he had heard from him. It was soft, but it was demanding. He felt his balls draw up then he was coming inside of him. He hadn’t realized he bit again, passed the soft scales on Castiel’s shoulders, until he tasted his warm blood laced with endorphins and something good, so good as Castiel arched his back and came between them.

When he let go, Castiel brushed his lower lip then pushed it into his mouth. Dean sucked the blood from it. When it was clean, Castiel touched his face, his fingers trailing over his stubble. He didn’t know how long they looked at each other, but he didn’t want to stop with the taste of Castiel at the back of his throat and him really looking at him. Like that distance had snapped like a rubber band.

“I think we can be good for each other, Dean,” Castiel said quietly, pushing fingers back through his hair above his ear.

“I know you’re good for me,” Dean said, taking his hand and kissing his fingertips.

Castiel smiled and his eyes still looked sad, so Dean leaned forward and kissed him again.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean sat on the balcony outside of his and Castiel’s suite. Castiel was inside, taking a shower. Nikon put two shot glasses of on the circular table between them and took a glass bottle from the concrete.

“Will you drink with me?”

“Sure,” Dean said, leaning up from the lounger.

Nikon poured the alcohol, it was clear, but it had a gray tinge, like extremely cold water. He passed one to Dean, who held it up and looked through it.

“What is it?”

“Vodka.”

“Like Castiel’s red acid is wine?”

Nikon smiled, showing his pointed teeth that were thicker than Castiel’s. They made his mouth broad. It would’ve been a little intimidating if his humor didn’t touch his eyes.

“The same. Cheers, my new friend.”

Dean clicked their glasses together then threw it back. He expected a burn, and it was there, but it was so smooth.

“That’s good,” he said roughly.

“Of course it is. Family recipe,” Nikon said.

Dean laughed. “You dragons and your damn recipes.”

“It’s our polite way of saying secret.”

“I’m starting to catch on to that,” Dean said.

“Another will do you well,” Nikon said, pouring out another. “Forget your troubles with me.”

Dean did then he leaned back, putting his hand above his head to hold the back of the chair. He sank into the warm lethargy of the vodka pulling at his brain as a smile lingered on his mouth. He glanced over to the dull light shining through the bottle as Nikon drank, laying back the same as him.

“Don’t know how you drink like that. Cas does too,” Dean said.

“I can drink that dirty Irish man under the table,” Nikon said.

Dean laughed. Nikon leaned forward and picked up a small spoon Castiel had used for coffee that morning. He licked it, then sucked it into his mouth before blowing on it. Waves rose around it, like heat waves, but even from where he sat Dean could feel the chill. Ice crystalized on the exterior, then beaded and branched off, making arms and legs. Then Nikon talked to it. If the vodka weren’t already working for him, he would’ve thought it was weird, now he just took it as normal. Nikon was talking to a spoon, of course he was.

Then it started to dance in his palm. He blew beneath it and a slab of ice formed in his hand. The spoon began to slide, like it was skating. Dean laughed.

“That’s awesome,” he said.

“Thank you,” Nikon said, then he held his hand up to the rail. The spoon skidded off his hand and started to twist.

Then he took another drink and blew it out. It looked like sleet shooting upward. It went together and it made wings.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, watching the dragonfly flap its icy wings.

He was staring at it when a small ball of fire hit it. It busted into tiny fragments and he heard Castiel’s laughter.

“You bastard potato peeler,” Nikon said.

“You show off, comrade,” Castiel said.

“I get to show off so little. You tired of my tricks.”

“My friend, your tricks are still beautiful, but my aim is still better.”

Nikon stood and held out his hand to the dancing spoon. He held it to his mouth and steam left the spoon, going into his mouth. Then it was just a spoon, no ice, no nothing. Suddenly Dean felt like he could cry. Castiel laughed and touched his cheek.

“You’re very drunk.”

Nikon laughed and touched his shoulder. “A tender heart for an American.”

Castiel pulled him to his feet. “Are you well enough to go out?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Dean said.

“Then we should go. The restaurant is expecting us by seven,” Castiel said.

When they walked down the sidewalk, Castiel’s hand brushed the back of Dean’s, then he took it, squeezing it softly. A warm fluttered passed Dean’s stomach and up to his throat, he cleared his throat and looked away.  

A phone went off then Nikon pulled it from his pocket. He smiled before answering and started speaking Russian, when he hung up, he turned to them.

“Alic is coming in on the train.”

“Would you like to have dinner another time?” Castiel asked.

“No, of course not. It’s past time for you to meet him.”

“I agree.”

The walk to the train station wasn’t long. A train was already there and people were filling on and off. Dean stood back with Castiel while Nikon went into the crowd. He was tall, but he wasn’t the tallest. He wasn’t the broadest either, but there was something about how he carried himself that made Dean wonder how no one never noticed that he wasn’t human. People did flow around him, though, like rocks in a river, like they didn’t want to touch and weren’t even aware of it.

“Nik!”

A blonde guy slammed into Nikon. There was something really sweet about the way Nikon hugged him, cradling his head and kissing his temple.

“Is it his son?” Dean asked.

Castiel laughed. “No.”

Then Nikon pulled back and the guy kissed him.

“Guess not,” Dean said, coughing slightly.

Apparently they forgot that they were in the middle of a train station with people surrounding them or they just didn’t care. Dean saw a flash of tongue and he couldn’t tell whose it was. He had never really seen men kiss, he had in porn, but those weren’t usually guys he found attractive. Nikon was and the guy he was kissing was too. When he felt a twitch in his jeans, he looked away.

Castiel laughed quietly and kissed his cheek, like he could read his mind.

“Not against PDA, huh?” he tried to joke.

“They know they’re beautiful.”

Dean glanced at the people around them. A lot of them were watching the two men making out in the middle of them. Most did it discretely, but some stared. Some of those their mouths were open and others looked like God was getting spit on.

Finally, they came up for air and Nikon took the guy’s hand leading him toward them. The guy’s lips were kiss swollen, but he smiled fully when he saw Castiel, holding out his hand.

“Castiel, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Nik speaks of you often,” he said.

Castiel took his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Aye. We have needed to meet for a long time.” Then he pulled away, “Stalic, this my cara, Dean.”

“Alic, please,” the guy said, holding out his hand to Dean.

“Good to meet you,” Dean said.

“You as well,” then Alic leaned into Nikon’s side, putting his arm around his back. “You didn’t tell me they were so handsome.”

“He didn’t do your beauty justice either. I’m sorely disappointed in him,” Castiel said.

If it was possible, Nikon glowed more at Castiel’s compliment than Alic. He touched Alic’s hair that was so blonde it was nearly white and kissed his temple.

“If we go we can still make our reservations,” Castiel said.

Dean walked in front of Nikon and Alic with Castiel, holding his warm hand against the cooler night air. Behind them, Nikon and Alic talked quietly to each other. He heard them kissing more than once under Castiel’s quiet voice.

“I was here when that was being built,” Castiel said, looking across the street at a huge old stone building.

“What about the pyramids?”

Castiel laughed. “No, but More’s mentor was.”

“That’s awesome.”

The restaurant Castiel and Nikon picked was dim and small. They were sat in a circular booth and Dean thought it was going to be awkward. Nikon could hardly let Alic say a few words before leaning in to kiss him again. They fed each other and it was obvious it was just foreplay. When Nikon slid Alic’s finger into his mouth under the pretense of sucking it clean of blood from the steak, Castiel made a weird noise in his throat. It was a deep vibration that was more a feeling than noise. Alic froze with his eyes widening a fraction. Nikon grunted then pulled his mouth from Alic’s finger with a grunt.

“You’re such an old man,” Nikon said.

“Alic, where are you from?” Castiel asked, ignoring Nikon.

“Moscow.”

“It’s a beautiful city,” Castiel said.

“He hates it,” Nikon said.

“I don’t care for cold, but it’s still beautiful.”

“It does get too cold,” Alic said. “Dean, you’re an American?”

“Yep. Born in Kansas.”

“I don’t know where that is,” Alic said.

“Right in the middle,” Dean said. “So how did you two meet?”

“He was my mentor,” Alic said, smiling at Nikon and one of them made the small purr noise. He thought it was Nikon by the way he was looking at him. It was almost sickeningly sweet. It still made Dean’s chest ache just a little bit, and he wasn’t sure why.  

***

The next morning, Castiel came into the bathroom while Dean was showering.

“Nikon and I are going to visit and old friend. Would you like to come?”

“Nah, I was thinking about using that phone you got me. Making a few calls.”

“I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure your family is worried about you,” Castiel said.

Dean grunted, rising the shampoo out of his hair, breathing in the smell that was always on Castiel’s dark hair, mint and something rich and faint. His new sense of smell loved it. A little lemony. Sweet, kind of woody.

Castiel slid back the glass and leaned in. “I’ll see you this evening. If you get bored, you should call Alic. I’m sure he would love to keep you company.”

“Yeah I might,” Dean said, then he kissed Castiel.

Against the heat and steam of the shower, his freshly brushed teeth tasted cool. Dean pushed into the kiss and Castiel opened his mouth more fully. Castiel pushed his tongue against his and Dean braced himself on the wall by the door. Then Castiel rubbed a handful of warm water over his chest.

“I have to go,” Castiel said, but he sounded genuinely disappointed about it. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing his forehead against his.

Castiel kissed him again, before looking him up and down, shaking his head and closing the door. Dean thought about jacking off, but with Castiel gone, his horniness ebbed and he just thought of his cellphone sitting on the kitchen counter, charging.

***

Dean was still thinking about making the call he knew he should when he opened the suite door after someone knocked. He expected it to be room service, but it was Alic. He smiled when he saw Dean.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. Cas is out.”

“Yes I know. He’s with Nikon, so I thought you could come with me.”

Dean shrugged, “Why not? Where are we going?”

“The market.”

“Sure.”

Twenty minutes later they were in a place like a farmers market on steroids. Stalls were set up and they walked between them. Alic had a cloth bag that he kept throwing things into. He touched and smelled everything.

“Do you like to cook or something?”

“Not particularly,” Alic said.

“So you just like coming here?”

Alic looked back confused for a moment, then a spark crossed his eyes and he smiled slightly. “No, no. I’m sorry, I’ve never been around a cara. I forget that you don’t know our traditions. I’m trying to make Nik happy after leaving him on his own for a week.”

“So you’re going to cook him dinner? We do that too if we pissed off someone.”

“But I’m making him something special. Something that only I can make him.”

Then Alic stopped at a booth with baked things on it. He picked up a bar of thick dark chocolate. He smelled it then bit into it and the look that went over his face made Dean laugh.

“Do I need to leave you alone with that?” he asked.

“That is what I was looking for.”

Alic smiled, looking down at the chocolate before talking to the vendor in Italian. Then he handed over money and the vendor wrapped the chocolate in wax paper and Alic tucked it into his bag.

“Does Nikon like chocolate or something?” Dean asked.

Alic stopped then turned back. “This won’t work.”

Dean took a step back and frowned. “Sorry, did I say something-.”

“No, no, I’m just trying to find the words,” Alic said. He frowned then pulled out the chocolate again. “This is how he tastes.”

“Like his skin?” Then it hit Dean and he nodded. “Like his venom?”

Alic smiled and nodded. “Yes. I’m getting it to make for him.”

“Why?”

“It is what he loves,” Alic said. “It is the flavor of something he loves most and when he shares it with me he is sharing what he loves. I give it back to him, because he is what I love.”

 “Do only other dragons do it?”

“No. No,” then he took Dean’s hand and they went back to the start of the market. “Now you pick. Pick what Castiel tastes like with something you can make from him.”

“Like a… I don’t even know.”

Alic laughed, “I will tell you what I’m making Nik. A cake filled with chocolate and finished with sea salt.”

“So it needs to be a dessert or something?”

“If his taste is sweet.”

“Kind of like lemons, but with sugar.”

Alic laughed quietly with a little bit of color across his nose. “Well then we’ll start there.”

There was a stand with lemons stacked beside other fruits. They didn’t have produce stickers, they weren’t overly waxy, like the ones he had used from the grocery stores in the states. They were full and such a bright yellow they were almost difficult to look at. With the sun shining on their matte and dented skins, he wished he had brought the glasses Castiel gave him as a small headache built behind his right eye.

He took felt for firm ones and chose three.

“I still don’t know what I’m making,” Dean said.

“Do you have family recipes?”

Dean frowned, trying to think as Alic continued to buy things, stone ground flour, pure cane sugar, everything as close to the source as he could get it. Dean was getting better at understand what things costs. Whatever Alic was putting together was costing a good amount.

Then Dean decided what he wanted to make and went back down the stalls. He bought his own canvas sack and filled it with pure things, like Alic was doing. Alic took it from his hands if it was the least bit processed.

“From the heart. Chemicals aren’t from the heart.”

“Organic dragons, really?” Dean asked, as Alic took a bag of sugar from his hands and replaced it with another bag that looked nearly identical.

“Do you love his body? Do you want to take care of it?”

Dean groaned. “Fine.”

“Yes, fine,” Alic said, taking Dean’s wallet and counting out the bills for all he had bought and giving it to the stall owner. “Now, we need to go to make these before they return.”

Over an hour later, Dean stood in the kitchen of the hotel suite with Alic. He leaned against the marble counter while Alic mixed a batter so dark it was nearly black. There was a stand mixer right there, but he was using a whisk. When Dean was making his for Castiel, he made him use a whisk too, chattering in his ear about making it with love and electricity was not love.

“How old are you?” Alic asked.

“Twenty-six. You?”

“Twenty-three. It’s very refreshing to be around someone the same age,” Alic said.

“I bet. How old is Nikon?”

“He is going to celebrate his 765th birthday soon.”

“Looking good for an old man,” Dean said.

Alic laughed, “We’re too vain to get ugly when we age. We would throw ourselves off cliffs before.”

“Little extreme.”

“A temperamental dragon? Say it isn’t so,” Alic said.

 “I don’t know. You, Nikon, Cas, you all seem pretty chill.”

Alic stuck his finger into the batter and tasted it before shaking his head. “No. Castiel is too old to be temperamental.”

“How old is he?”

“From what Nik has told me, he was born before the man Jesus was killed.”

“Get out of here,” Dean said.

Alic paused looking up, “Did I offend you?”

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s a saying. Never mind. Seriously he’s that old?”

Alic nodded then added more sugar and poured more of the melted chocolate into the batter. He stirred then tasted it again.

 “What does that make him, like middle aged for you guys?”

“No. No. He’s very old. He’ll be in the arms of his loved ones soon.”

Dean’s stomach dropped out as he watched Alic pouring the batter into a tiny circle pan. “How long?”

Alic looked up and smiled kindly. “He will outlive you by years still.”

Dean smiled back, but that didn’t seem better. He could remember Castiel’s face in the living room of the estate, with the fire on his face, talking about John, about More, in the dark of the porch at the beach and the sadness in his deep blue eyes that was beyond tears and words. The other night and his quiet words as they stared at each other in bed with Dean still buried in his warm body. If Castiel was there, he would have crushed him in a hug, instead he made himself talk to Alic and act like he wasn’t as upset as he was.

***

The evening sun was coloring the walls of the suite when Dean heard Castiel open the door. Alic had left over an hour ago with his perfect little chocolate cake that he was beaming about. When Castiel came into the kitchen, Dean was looking down at his phone, spinning it in circles on the counter.

“Hello, Dean,” he said.

“Hey,” he said.

“Did you call?”

“Not yet,” he said, then he stood up to cut off anything else Castiel wanted to say. “I made you something.”

“Did you?” Castiel asked, sitting down.

Dean went to the fridge and looked at the yellow filling in a glass Alic had said was better than putting it in a crust. It looked stupid now. Still, he was committed now, so he took it out and set it in front of Castiel. Then he dug in a drawer for a spoon and plopped it down before sitting beside him at the bar.

“There ya go,” he said, “Mary Winchester’s lemon pie, without the crust.”

The spoon stayed on the counter as Dean drummed his fingers. When he couldn’t take the quiet anymore, he glanced at Castiel, who was staring at the glass. Then Dean’s heart palpitated hard when they filmed slightly. He suddenly look very old, like cataracts. He wondered if you shinned a flashlight into his eyes at that moment if they would glow green.

“Did Alic tell you about this?”

“Yeah, he was making Nikon something.”

“Did he tell you what it means?”

“Something about how what you taste like is your favorite food and since I,” he cleared his throat. “Since I really care about you, I should give you what you like.”

Castiel stood up and took Dean’s wrist in one hand and the glass in the other.

“Cas?”

Castiel ignored him and dragged him into the bedroom. He put the glass on the bedside table then began to unbutton his shirt.

“Lay down,” he said.

Dean did what Castiel said and laid on his back toward the edge of the bed. When he was shirtless, Castiel straddled Dean’s hips. He slipped the buttons of Dean’s over-shirt then slid it down his shoulders. Dean only had a tank top underneath.

Then Castiel dipped his finger into the lemon filling before bringing it back and dragging it down the muscle bordering one side of Dean’s neck. Dean shivered at the cold then groaned at the heat of Castiel’s tongue licking it away, then sucking the remainder away. He started making that purring noise and it vibrated into his skin, going down his neck and winding in his gut and down to his dick.

“Now that is my favorite flavor,” Castiel said.

“Oh yeah?” Dean tried to joke, but there wasn’t enough breath in his lungs.

“I think I should try more of it to be sure,” he said, then he stripped Dean and trailed the filling onto his skin in single stripes, licking it from his skin, then sucking slowly. He put it on his chest, his nipples, his balls, and his dick.

“Cas,” Dean said, gripping his hair as he pushed up into his mouth.

He was sweating and it was cool in the room or it had been. He was burning up now though with the blanket against his back, soft and scratching at his body. Over an hour of this and he was coming apart. Then Castiel sucked his finger and pushed it into his body. That was it. Dean arched his back, almost jerking off the bed while Castiel rubbed his prostate, sucking like a Hoover on his cock as he emptied into his throat.

While Dean was still jerking slightly in aftershocks with his mouth slack. Castiel leaned over him, then Dean smelled lemon.

“Hold out your tongue.”

Dean did with his eyes still closed and breathing hard.

Castiel drug his finger down the rough pad of his tongue, cleaning off the lemon on it. Then he kissed him, sucking the filling from his tongue and passing it back to him. Dean kissed him back, feeling his own liquid dripping from his teeth and mixing with his pathetic imitation next to Castiel’s pure taste. Little sputtering of electric shocks shot down his spine as they kissed until Castiel swallowed and groaned into his mouth.

“Now, that is my favorite.”

Dean pressed into his shoulder above him, still breathing hard. “Was for you. You didn’t even get off,” he said tiredly.

“You gave me enough.”

“Fuck me, Cas.”

“Don’t-.”

“Please,” Dean said, laying back on the pillow enough to look up at him. “Just do it slow.”

Castiel looked back at him, so close and the warmth building at the base of his spine. That feeling he was getting used to. Dark blue, light blue, black, and yellow all mixed in his perfect eyes. Castiel turned off the light with a switch by the bed. Then they were kissing again and there was a shallow bite at his shoulder and Castiel was in him.

He looked up and there was enough light from the city outside through the window to see his face. Dark blue, light blue, black, and yellow all mixed in his perfect eyes, framed by his lashes like a picture. His beautiful dark scales catching any little light and turning it into a show, like small pops of fireworks in front of Dean’s eyes. Every touch like low grade shocks that went down to his heart. He could feel his own heart beating. The twist of the muscle, see the indentation as it pumped out his blood.

He put his hand over Castiel’s heart and felt the frayed eyes of the old bullet wound. His scales vibrated with his pulse. Dean closed his eyes and felt him moving inside of his body, so slow. It had never been this slow. Almost kissed, that just turned to breathing in each other’s mouths.

He felt Castiel’s scales rubbing against his body better than any touch he had ever had and he wondered when he fell head first. It was so passed gone he didn’t know. He couldn’t even remember what cliff he must have jumped from. It was over and he was fallen, then it sounded like rain and Castiel’s wings were around them, making the world completely dark and Dean closed his eyes, feeling him move and understanding how completely he was fucked and feeling nothing but happy for the first time in a very long time as Castiel hummed, filling the dark space like fluttering hummingbird wings.  


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I'm such an idiot. I missed posting the first section of this chapter. Ugh.

A few mornings later, Dean stood on the balcony bouncing his phone on his palm. His breath came out in clouds against the monotone of the city in fog. When his fingers were starting to tingle, he pushed in Bobby’s number and put the cold screen to his ear.

He walked the length of the stone before circling back in lazy steps. The phone rang shrilly.

“Bobby Singer’s phone,” a man answered.

Dean’s tongue dropped into his gut.

“Hello?”

“Dad?”

“Dean?” John asked. Relief flooded his rough voice, then it was gone. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I even went to the place you told Bobby about and it was gone.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Dad,” he said.

“Well, at least you took care of it. Better late than never. Come to Bobby’s.”

“Yeah, uh, that’s the thing,” he said. “I didn’t really take care of it.”

“Dammit, Dean. What have you been doing?”

Sleeping on sand, swimming in the ocean, eating good food, seeing Rome, actually feeling good, having fantastic sex. Maybe falling in love.

“Nothing, really. I just needed a break.”

“A break? And you thought not telling anyone was the best way to do it? We just lost Sam and now you just skip out? Jesus, Dean, think before you act for once in your life.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Where are you?”

Dean looked out at the city in the morning fog. The coliseum a looming thing with its cragged edges. The sliding glass behind him came open. Castiel stepped out with two mugs of something steaming. When he saw Dean was on the phone, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I thought you had finished,” he said, and started to go back inside.

“Dean, where are you?” his dad asked again.

“Nowhere,” Dean said, and hung up, taking the coffee Castiel offered.

Castiel smiled sadly and touched the side of his face. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

“As well as I expected,” Dean said. The phone began to ring again and he silenced it before putting it in his pocket.

Castiel stepped into his space and angled up his chin to kiss him. His lips tasted like coffee and sugar. The worry slowly started to fade, but it felt like he was in a snow globe. As flurries began to fall around them, he could hear his dad’s voice and see the leak it had caused in his beautiful crystal world as it began to slowly leak.

***

 

That week went easy. It was amazing how easily he fell into a pace with Castiel in public. It helped the people didn’t speak the same language, they didn’t know him, they didn’t know anything about him. It helped more than feeling Castiel’s hand in his was pure confidence and he never seemed to run out of ways to put Dean into a state of wonder that shot him back to childhood.

On their balcony, he made tornadoes made of fire that spun from his lips at the New Year. In the background above the city, fireworks exploded and Dean’s eyes pulses with light after they were all gone. He started the year with Castiel over him, on his back, on his stomach, then straddling Castiel’s scaled thighs and kissing him deep while Castiel’s wings wrapped around his back and he looked up at him speaking in his other language in an adoring tone that Dean couldn’t even misconstrue.

The next week they went with Alic and Nikon to Sicily, taking a boat across the sea. Alic manipulated water to crawl up the gleaming white sides of the boat. It would lay over the deck then crawl off again. He made water spouts and Nikon froze them like stalactites rising from the water.

Dean watched them from the ship railing as Castiel came behind him, putting his warm chest to his back. Against the cold it was like the fire he could breathe was resting in his gut. Dean pressed back against him as the water rocked them.

“Did you show off so much when you were younger?”

“I was intolerable,” Castiel said with his chin on his shoulder.

“Can you do magic, like Nikon’s spoon?”

“I can make his spoon look like child’s play.”  

“Yeah? Are you going to show me?”

“I can.”

That night, Dean sat on the shore near the bungalow they were staying the week at. Alic sat beside him, while Castiel and Nikon laid wood in front of them. He didn’t know where they had found so much, but they stretched it down yards then built it up. While they did, Castiel mumbled. At first, Dean thought he was telling Nikon how to lay the wood, but then he realized, he was talking to the pieces. It took over an hour before Nikon sat on the other side of Alic and reached behind him to touch Dean’s arm.

“This means very much,” he said quietly.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Watch.”

Then Castiel stood and spoke at a normal volume, but in a language Dean didn’t know. He closed his eyes and paused then opened his mouth and fire streamed out, catching the pile of wood at one end.

The fire lit the smoke from beneath so it was gray against black. It was weirdly visible as Castiel took a seat beside him in the sand. He watched the fire, waiting for something, then Castiel touched his jaw and leaned to his ear.

“Watch the smoke.”

It started to make shapes against the sky. He watched a small figure with wings. It went from two legs to four, then took flight. It disappeared into a wall of smoke and came out the other side as a boy on two legs with a bag on its back. It was like watching a black and white movie, but the tones had been shifted to oranges and grays as the flames glared off the smoke. The boy walked to a home on a hill. A tall man, nearly the same width as Nikon came from the door and stooped down. His lips moved.

Dean’s breath got caught as blips of clarity came. The man’s skin tone, the gold of his eyes against lighter hair. For moments, he wasn’t smoke. It looked like Dean could reach out and touch him. Whatever he said was mumbled and died on the ocean waves, but he didn’t need to hear. Dignity pumped off of him, like it did Castiel. Then he put his hand on the boy’s back and walked with him into the house.

The smoke turned and showed flashes, smoke and clarity. The man’s eyes, laughter. Him undressing in front of the home and his body changing, then a blinding flash of white that made a gush of air push through Dean’s hair.

A necklace in a wooden box and the man putting it on the boy’s neck, who wasn’t a boy anymore. Then a stream. A soft kiss. It was their first, Dean could feel it. He could feel how bad they had wanted it, then it built. He kept expecting it to shift, but it didn’t. He cringed at first. It wasn’t like watching porn. It was private and he knew without asking it was More and Castiel. Then Castiel took his hand on the warm sand. Dean didn’t look at him, but he squeezed.

The next was so clear it felt like Dean was there. More laid on cushions and touched Castiel’s young thin face. He spoke and his sincerity, and love were so clear. Castiel moved and sat behind him, pressing a hand on the center of his chest so that he leaned back against him. Dean couldn’t take his eyes away as he felt Castiel breathing around him.

He didn’t even like Lisa talking about ex-boyfriends. He sat and watched More talking to Castiel with silent words and he didn’t feel that at all. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t jealousy.

The smoke showed Castiel growing. Flashes of beautiful women, babies, Castiel with children. Flashes of a different older world. Glimpses of quiet loving moments, flashes of sex worth remembering over a 1,000 years later. Two dragons, a gold and a blue twisting through so quickly he nearly missed them.

Gradually the tone darkened and Dean’s stomach started to draw up.

More coughing. His large back shaking under them. A bed. Castiel laying in it with him, reading, both of them laughing quietly again. More coughing under a fit that made him vomit. The blood was so red against the smoke. Castiel’s arms tightened around Dean as he rested his chin on his shoulder.

The stark clarity again, but toned darkly. More’s face was aged, but he was still handsome. Even Castiel’s fire under the image painted it carefully. His eyes watered and they looked like molten metal. Castiel held him more tightly and Dean reached back to hold his side.

Castiel was holding More in a nest. His face was buried against his hair, but he didn’t have to see to know that More was dead and Castiel was falling apart.

The smoke went dark.

Slowly, sparks drifted up against it. The popped like small firecrackers on a black hole.

Different faces, scenes, cities, constructions of cities all black and white. When the scenes began to build again, Castiel walked differently. His back was straighter and he looked more like the man Dean knew. He saw Nikon, but a younger one, more smiling, vitality in his strange eyes. There were flashes of horseback with him, sharing dinners, but none of the sex Dean knew they had had. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said they were brothers.

Then a rising frame of a city against water. The Statue of Liberty. Dirty people in streets, rich women in dresses. Castiel at gray and white parties. All of it monotone like it had been since the last scene with More. The Castiel in front of him looked harder, nearly cruel in the way he smiled. Pretentious and fake.

Then a young man with a gun in an empty building. The ocean sounded like laughter and he knew it had come from Castiel then. The waves crashed as the bullet left the chamber. The ocean became louder in front of them. Castiel was yelling in the smoke and the man Dean knew was John fell to his hands and knees screaming. Dean watched steam rise from his skin then the smoke exploded into red.

Haziness as John and Castiel were on horseback on deserted roads. Flashes of impacts and lights as they dissolved into fighting again and again. Blood on John’s lip and Castiel tried to wipe it away before John shoved him away and wiped it with his sleeve before pulling himself back onto his horse.

Through the fog, burning clarity as they sat around a fire and John smiled and laughed, using his hands as he spoke.

A plantation surrounded by mangroves. A back porch overlooking a marsh and John crossing it to kiss Castiel against the white railing. A white bed and Castiel touching scales that looked purple on John’s chest. The image was so clear going up his body, pale freckled skin against purple red scales, dark hair, and eyes so gray they were almost unsettling. He hit Dean as hard as More had with that strange feeling. He watched them rough and desperate. It wasn’t the open sweetness that it was with More. But it was stupid, because even one-hundred years later, Dean could see they loved each other and both were too stubborn to say it.

Castiel waking up and seeing John, touching his dark hair with a soft look in his eyes. Dean’s heart hitched. He knew that look. John’s eyes opened and he looked at Castiel then he hit him. Then it was sex again and Dean wasn’t sure how it happened, but he heard Nikon laugh quietly.

He watched boxing rings and John in them. Castiel wiping the blood from his face in the corners, pushing his mouth guard in. American cities rose around them. He saw rough kisses, fucking against buildings. He watched John drinking and Castiel holding him when it brought tears. He watched them laugh and light in Castiel’s face and John’s as John held up their hands and pressed their fingertips together. He watched John mouth three words that he could recognize even without sound as he smiled small.

There was a gold elevator and them kissing before they stepped off. He watched from across a room as John yelled at a man in front of a bar. He saw the gun being pulled and knew this was straight from Castiel’s mind, his eyes. He saw the trigger being pulled and pieces of John’s throat blowing out of the back and him falling against the stools, knocking them over. He saw Castiel’s hand holding his face and John gripping his wrist with a bloodied hand and blood pumped from his throat. Bubbles of air popped as he tried to breath. Blood spattered his lips. He saw water drop onto his John’s cheeks streaking through the blood and knew it was Castiel’s tears.  

Then the world went black. After More it came back in spark. This came back in explosions. Limbs broke and flames shot into the darkness. There were body parts, tents, blood, fire shooting from Castiel’s mouth, blood on his face and his teeth standing out as he roared. Limbs broke so loudly in the flames it was like gun fire. When the explosions were over, the world was dark again.

It went so long, Dean was almost thought it was over, then the smoke began to lighten. He saw paper, _to whom it may concern_. Two pictures, More and John together in a book. The office at Castiel’s estate. A vial on the desk top with a small amount of liquid in it. Dean’s stomach began to drop then Castiel stood and went down a hall. The front door.

He almost jumped when he saw himself, dripping in water. He saw his own fake smile as he greeted him. Them sharing food, Castiel putting him to bed, then going back to his office. His chest decompressed as he picked up the vial then put it away like the world was sitting on his shoulders.

Then he saw his own skin melting off. He saw himself with gloves hitting John’s punching bag. He saw himself dazed after Castiel bit his thumb on the airplane. His face in firelight as he laughed on the beach. He didn’t know if he was that good-looking. Castiel made him look really good in the light. His face in the moonlight as he cried over Sam. Him sleeping on the sand and his scales glowing in the sun. The first time on the couch, his face flushed and feeling himself heating up in Castiel’s arms. Castiel brushed his nose in front of his ear. Them having sex on the floor in the living room.

He braced for the bad parts, him being an asshole, but they didn’t come. The next was them dancing at the Christmas lights shining on his own eyes and skin. The night Castiel let him be on top. Them sharing gelato three weeks ago and him sucking the chocolate from his finger, Castiel showing him the coliseum, the guts of it, and the amazement on his own face. The lemon dessert Castiel had dragged over his skin. Then himself laughing with Alic on the sand only hours ago. Then a spark and it was only his face and he knew it was himself right then in Castiel’s arms and the water in his eyes. He dragged his arm over his eyes and forced it back as the smoke darkened.

Nikon and Alic stood and walked back toward their cottage after kissing them both goodnight on their brows. When their footsteps had faded, Dean exhaled.

“That was amazing.”

“I can be slow, but it is my life.”

“You didn’t have to put me with them,” Dean said, rubbing at his eyes. “That was sweet, but-.”

“Shh,” Castiel said. “My heart is what it is, Dean. My magic isn’t that strong.”

Dean turned to look at him and Castiel fluffed the back of his hair.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” Dean said immediately. Then shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

He leaned in and they kissed slowly with the smell of burning wood surrounding them and filling their lungs as Castiel laid him back on the sand. It held Castiel’s past on the air and they breathed it into each other’s lungs with the sea salt as they left room for their own.  


	15. Chapter 15

_Three Years Later_

Dean walked up from the boat dock behind the house. Crickets and frogs hummed and if he stayed out long enough he would hear the chumpfs of alligators deep in the glade. Willows and mimosas stood around the yard and the screen door of the porch creaked as he opened it.

The ceiling fan turned slowly, stirring the warning humidity as he went to the back door. Castiel was in the white and gray kitchen at the stove.

“What’re you making?”

“Food.”

“That narrows it down. Thanks, Cas,” he said, kissing his cheek.

“How did you do today?”

“I got some in the live wells. I’ll take them to the fish house in the morning,” Dean said. He caught the edge of Castiel’s face and saw the milky glaze that was there this morning had thickened. “Aw, someone’s about to start shedding.”

Castiel twisted away.

“And you’re already pissy? Fantastic,” Dean teased, going to the fridge and taking out a beer.

Castiel only snorted. Dean knew better than to stay. He went to the living room where he would still hear Castiel slamming cabinets, the fridge, the metal of pans hitting the grates on the stove. He would have offered to help, but he wasn’t suicidal, so he just flipped through one of his restoration magazines.

“It’s done,” Castiel yelled.

Dean went back into the kitchen. When he got there, Castiel was already gone. He heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs then the slam of their bedroom door. Before he made a bowl of the gumbo and rice, Dean put a large pot of water on the stove and turned the heat on beneath. He flipped through the cabinets before finding the large back of black coral above the microwave. It was rough on his hands as he reached inside and dropped them into the water.

He ate dinner leaning against the counter and waiting for the water to boil. Outside, the wind rose, making the wind chimes on the porch clang together. Their sharp noises jarred. Resounded through his head. He hurried outside and took them down, knowing Castiel’s hearing was even sharper right then.

The sky was still clear as the sun was beginning to set. Still, Dean went down to his boat house again, made sure his boat was tied securely and doubled checked the chains on the dock doors. He frowned and went back inside.

He fed Declan, Castiel’s dog that was more wrinkle than dog. He didn’t even raise his gargoyle head from the rug, just tapped his stubbed tail when Dean poured the gravy drippings from the rue Castiel made over the top.

Then he dipping his finger into the pot with the coral in it. It was finally hot enough. He took it off the heat and took it up the stairs, toward their bedroom door in the simple home Castiel had all but let him choose when they came back to the States a little over two years ago.

Dean opened the door, juggling the pot. “I’m coming in,” he said. “Don’t bite me.”

“You’re fine,” Castiel said. He sounded pissed off and tired.

“Can I come into the nest?” Dean asked.

“Of course.”

He didn’t sound happy about it. Dean ignored him, he had dealt with his dad having migraines. Sam being sick as a kid. They got bitchy when they didn’t feel good and that’s all this was. Dean set the pot on the bedside table then went to the attached bathroom and got a few big fluffy towels.

He crawled down into the nest and opened the pot.

Castiel grumbled.

“You’re so damn cranky.”

He didn’t understand how noises that loud came out of a body that small. It sounded like an actual dragon should be making them, one the size of this room and not a not quite six foot tall guy.

He reached into the water. It was almost too hot, but it was how Nikon showed him to do it after Castiel molted the first time when they were staying the summer with him and Alic in Italy a few years ago.

“Look at you being naked,” Dean said, touching his back.

The light from the bathroom caught Castiel’s eyes as he turned toward them and flashed off as he growled again.

“You’re hands are as irritating as your jokes.”

“Yeah? What about this?” Dean asked, dragging the coral against Castiel’s scales.

He felt Castiel shiver then it was like boulders moving. The noise surrounded them then Castiel twisted to show his back. It was like wet sanding a car to take away swirl marks. He kept adding water and pieces of skin fell away. Soon Castiel’s noise like a landslide lessened to the quiet purr. It still sounded like his lungs were impossibly big.

 “That’s right, don’t get pissy at the guy rubbing your back.”

“You know shedding makes me irritable.”

“Yeah it does. You turn into a big bitch,” he said, nipping lightly against Castiel’s ear, still rubbing between his shoulders.

Castiel whipped his neck around with his teeth showing before he snorted. Smoke left his nose. His pretty blue eyes were completely milky white now. Dean laughed quietly, nuzzling into Castiel’s neck before licking one of his fresh new scales he had cleaned.

“Be thankful I can’t change anymore or I would have taken your leg, you little shit,” Castiel said with smoke still coming from his nose, like it only ever did when he molted once a year or so.

“Aw, Cas, you only call me your little shit when you’re shedding, I’m starting to think you don't mean it very nice,” he said.

He dragged the porous coral over Castiel’s scales that was supposed to be the closest thing to another dragon’s tongue in their gifted form. Castiel had told him he hadn’t be able to change into his since the summer of 1827. He was too old now, even if his body was still lean and firm and his hair still dark and thick.  

“Stop being tedious,” Castiel said.

It was dangerously close to a pout. Dean kissed the nape of Castiel’s neck. The vibration of his continuing rumble buzzed against his lips, like a jackhammer a mile away.

“I love to give you hell,” he said, kissing up into his hair and behind his ear.

“I know,” Castiel said as he rolled his shoulders against his chest, grinding his irritated scales against Dean’s own.

The smoldering sound mellowed more.

It took hours to go over every inch of Castiel. By the time Dean was done, his hands were raw. Castiel took his hands and licked them softly. The skin came back soft and pink, which would be a pain in the ass when he was pulling in traps for the next few days until his callouses started to grow back, but it was worth it to see how Castiel’s new growth scales glowed in the dark and to hear his soft little purr that meant he wasn’t anywhere near irritated anymore.

Dean had only molted twice, but he understood why Castiel was such a dick during. It was like having fleas and hives over ever inch that his scales covered, and his scales only covered about half of what Castiel’s did.

Dean laid beside him with his head on his freshly scoured chest. They still smelled of friction and dead skin like ashes. Castiel slid his fingers up the smooth scales on his back, like his fingers were on an ice rink. Dean closed his eyes and thought of Nikon’s spoon on the railing.

They came in July. On the fourth, he watched Alic shooting water into the sky, Nikon freezing it and Castiel blowing it apart, the ice melting before it every reached the dry grass.

“What’s wrong, _grá_?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Do you feel better?”

“I do. I’d feel ever better if you would stop being stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” Dean asked with a quiet snort.

“Yes.”

The air conditioner came on, floating down around them in the sticky heat. Castiel stretched his ancient body out like a cat, kicking the quilt from one of his long legs. His dick was half-hard against his dark pubic hair. Dean thought about it as a distraction, but after molting Castiel’s rut would follow it like winter after fall. It would come within the week, then Dean’s body would be sore, but Castiel would make it worth it, coddling and loving him, chasing away the soreness with his fingers.

“I’m just worried about the weather coming in. It’s going to do a number on my traps.”

“God willing it will pass us. If not, we can mend your traps.”

“Still,” Dean said, biting at the dirt beneath his pointer finger.

“I’ll go with you in the morning to pull them before you take what you have to Benny’s.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Old habits of brushing Castiel off fought below the surface, but he pushed them down and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of his skin. He rubbed his cheek against Castiel’s soft new scales. His chest began to vibrate softly beneath him.

“You’ve gotten so much better at this,” Castiel said with his lips against his hairline.

Dean focused on the warmth of Castiel against the scales on his chest and down to his bare groin. It was almost unsettling how important this had become to him, the need to be skin to skin, to be held.

“Where do you think you will go when you pass?” Castiel asked.

It had been quiet for so long Dean was nearly asleep. Dean laughed quietly.

“That’s kind of out of nowhere.”

Castiel only made his purring noise, pushing his hand over Dean’s hair that had been beaten flat by the baseball hat he wore to keep the sun from his eyes when he was on the water.

 “I don’t know. I hope Hell doesn’t turn out to be a thing,” Dean laughed slightly. “that would suck.”

Castiel hummed against his hair and the vibration came against the shell of his ear.

“How old are you?” Dean asked softly. He hoped Castiel hadn’t heard him.

Three years. That’s how long it had been since Alic told him. He tried not to think about it, but it was hard with Castiel’s eyes milky and sightless and smelling years of his skin burned from him with friction. He listened to Castiel’s heart and hoped it could drown out the answer.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you for certain. Why do you ask?”

He cleared his throat. “Are you going to die soon?”

“We can’t exactly know that, can we?” Castiel asked with his lips moving against his hair.

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Castiel inhaled then breathed out. His breath was warm, nearly hot. Dean wondered if it was smoking.

“I think that if nature has its way, I’ll have fifty or sixty more years.”

“So a race to see which one kicks first?” Dean made himself laugh, but it felt like his mouth was lined with sawdust.

“The moment your heart stops beating is the moment I let my teeth begin to leak.”

Dean pulled back enough to look into Castiel’s face. It looked like his eyes were fragmenting, like fog breaking apart. Dean brushed his thumb along his lower lashes and pieces of Castiel’s inner lid came out and clung to his skin in watery pieces.

His eyes were so blue they didn’t look natural. They looked like they glowed. He was as speechless now as the first time it had happened in the hotel bed they shared in Rome.

Dean nodded and struggled to swallow around something that felt like relief.

“Good,” he whispered.

Then Castiel kissed him, rolling him onto his back with his arms around him. He felt the heat of his rut on his breath, like a furnace in his stomach. His taste buds popped with Castiel’s searc leaking onto his tongue.

He melted like he didn’t do with anyone else. He wanted to believe when this was over, when this whole life was over, when all this heat, maybe his insides were being tempered. If he didn’t get the darkness he hoped for, maybe the fire wouldn’t hurt so badly as he pulled Castiel closer and kissed him deeper.

***

The next morning after bringing in the traps with Castiel as the sun was creeping above the mangroves, Dean walked into the fish house and put the crate on the owner’s counter. Fat red crayfish scrambled over each other in the trap.

“Got about 75 here,” Dean said.

“Looking good, brother,” Benny said. “Tommy!” he yelled toward the back. “Go dump these in the wells.”

A thin girl came from the back and took the trap toward the wells that had plexiglass fronts so the public could see them when they walked down the rows. The whole building smelled of fish and dirt, coming back from the white sheet metal walls. Benny paid him and they talked for a while as locals started to filter in. Most of them owned restaurants and were looking for the freshest catches, others were moms that had just dropped their kids off at school and were looking for something to make for dinner.

“We still going fishing at the end of the week?”  

“Sure we are. If the storm doesn’t blow by shit down,” Benny said, “Now go on, I got business to do.”

“Fine, fine,” Dean said, walking away down the rows.

Farmers set up shop in the building. It wasn’t like the stalls he walked down in Italy with Alic. It was danker, more humid, and he felt more at home.

He went to a stall stacked with cantaloupe, watermelons, and vegetables.

“What’s up, Ray?” he asked, knocking on the striped green hide of watermelons.

“Nothing much. Nah, you’ll pick wrong. Damn city boy, don’t know what you’re looking for,” the stall owner, a wiry black guy, said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, but let Ray take over. “Get a good one. Cas went out and helped me pull traps this morning after being sick all night.”

“Nothing serious?”

“No, just shedding.”

“Nasty sons of bitches, dropping your skin all over like dogs,” Ray said, but he smiled and winked.

“Coming from a mosquito that doesn’t really hurt my feelings,” Dean said.

Ray laughed and Dean could smell the faint tinge of blood on his breath, the same way he smelled it on Benny’s. They said it was animal blood, but that wasn’t any of his business, not anymore.

Finally, he picked up one that had sounded right when he rapped his bony knuckles against it and gave it to Dean. “Tell him I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Are you coming fishing with me and Benny this week?”

“If my goddamn farm doesn’t drown I’ll be there,” he said.

He thanked Ray then started to leave. He wanted to get the watermelon cut and cold before Castiel woke up from his nap. It’d be nice to give him after he drug himself out of bed to help him this morning, even when his body was still sore and tender. Those new scales were like the fresh pink skin on Dean’s hands that had already split and blistered from the morning’s work.

“Dean.”

Dean turned quickly and had to balance the watermelon to keep it from splattering. He could only stand there and stare as people passed. They weren’t unaware, they didn’t act like it in cities, but they turned away, Southern politeness bred into their blood, but they still watched from the corners of their eyes. The man that looked ragged and gray in a beaten black military jacket and the other that stood in boots that were stained in the smell of swamp from the short time he had been here.

“Dad.”

John Winchester smiled and came toward him, hugging him. Dean couldn’t move for a moment. Canvas and leather. The way he had always smelled. His arms came up and he hugged him back. It felt like his head was spinning. Over his dad’s shoulder, Ray made eye contact with him from a fruit stand.

The light struck Ray’s strangely for just a moment, like a car’s headlights catching a coyote’s eyes in the dark. His bony body was rigid. Benny came down the main aisle and stood at Ray’s stand with his hands in his pockets and a deep frown on his wide mouth. He pulled away from his dad and nodded to them as minutely as he could. Benny nodded back, but they stayed where they were.

“Can we go outside and talk?” John asked. He looked behind him at Benny and Ray who didn’t drop their eyes. “I feel like we might not be particularly welcome.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, starting to walk toward the doors.

“Brother,” Benny called, then he was right there with his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You alright?” His ice blue eyes looked at John when he said it though. When he spoke, he showed a hint of his sharp teeth. Dean folded his lips over his own.

“I’m okay. Benny, this is my dad.”

Benny just nodded then looked at Dean and lowered his voice. “I don’t hear from you in fifteen minutes and I’m calling Cas.”

Dean swallowed and nodded. As much as he wanted to be able to say no, anxiety was churning in his gut. He could see his father in a hotel room when he was sixteen and he went to hunt a vampire, just like his friend in front of him.

_If I turn, you take me out. Dean, you do what has to be done._

He remembered the cold feel of the 1911 his dad laid in his hands loaded with bullets hiding wooden cores.

_I won’t be human anymore._

_I won’t be me._

“I’ll talk to you in a just a little bit,” Dean said to Benny, then he started walking toward the doors, feeling Ray and Benny’s stares on his back.

The white washed gravel of the lot crunched beneath their boots as Dean walked toward his beaten truck he used when he hauled fishing stuff. His dad’s lifted Silverado sat beside it, covered in mud and dust. Dean open his door and laid the watermelon in the passenger side floorboard. He shoved down his nerves and turned around closing the door.

“You aren’t an easy man to find.”

“There was a reason for that,” Dean said, making himself uncross his arms.

John shook his head. The same shaggy black hair that was grayer now. The stubble that clung to his face was grayer now, like galvanized wires poking from his weathered skin.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding for three and a half years?”

“I haven’t been hiding.”

He could see his tone getting under his dad’s skin. He didn’t even know if he meant to. Under that was surprise. Maybe surprise to hear him back-talking like he had hardly ever done. That was always Sam’s thing.

His chest ached like it hadn’t done in some time. Sam and their dad looked alike, long limbed and ragged hair. Pissed off postures and like the world was out to beat down their spines with a bat. Dean breathed in the humid air and felt it pressing on him like it hadn’t done in a long time.

“It’s been three and a half years, Dean,” John said. “We thought you were dead. Then Martin calls Bobby and says he’s seen you down here? You let me think my only son was dead.”

The patience was cracking. The tone Dean remembered leaked through. Hard and unrelenting.

“I called you. I told you I was okay.”

But still old ingrained guilt wound into his gut. Rusted bailing twine in his intestines.

“No you called me and told me you hadn’t killed it and then hung up on me,” John said angrily. “I have looked everywhere for you.”

“No you didn’t.”

The words surprised Dean as much as they cleared did John. He made himself not take them back.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t have looked for you?” John asked with more anger than anything else, anything like shame. “You’re my son.”

“You didn’t even come back when I called you. I called you every night,” Dean said. It twisted out of his mouth and he felt a cork untwist on his insides. Old fermenting anger pouring into his stomach and out.

“What? When? I checked my phone all the time-.”

“When Sam died,” Dean said.

A woman carrying a white paper sack looked at them across the lot as she walked to her Camry and Dean’s voice echoed back from the building.

“I called you. I begged you, I fucking begged you to just check in with me, and you wouldn’t do it.”

“Don’t. Dean, you will never know how much I regret-.”

“He’s still dead. Do you get that? Your regret? It doesn’t mean anything. My brother is still dead.”

“That’s why you haven’t called me?” John asked angrily. “Are you punishing me?”

Dean looked at his dad. His dark eyes. His face that used to be handsome and the way he held himself up like nothing was too scary, like nothing could completely crush him. Invincible. That’s what he used to think.

Now he just saw a man that was empty, one whose son killed himself and the other didn’t want to have anything to do with him. It stabbed Dean deep in the chest, but it didn’t make it any less true.

“Maybe at first,” Dean said.

He looked at his dad for a moment longer then went to go get in his truck. John grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around.

“No. I haven’t heard a word from you. Talk to me, Dean. I deserve that much.”

He would give him this, John was trying to push his anger back down. He was doing a shitty job of it, but he was trying and trying to get a handle on the situation again, to bring it back into his control.

“Did you ever kill it?” John asked.

“No,” Dean said. “No. I didn’t.”

John frowned at the tone of Dean’s voice. He reached out, his hand wavered before it settled on Dean’s shoulder, like it might scare him away.

“Did it hurt you?”

“He’d cut off his arm before he hurt me.”

He watched his dad’s already gaunt complexion start to fade. The deep bags under his eyes that made him look like he was constantly undergoing chemo were worse. It looked like Dean had hit him in the stomach and he wondered if this is the face John would have given him if he had ever told him he was gay when he would spend hours kissing his friend in his parents attic before they had to move, again.

“The man Martin has been seeing you with…,” John said. “Dean, don’t tell me you’re that damn stupid. Don’t I raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise me.”

John frowned, his wide mouth digging deeper into his face, “Dean, it isn’t human.”

Dean pulled his t-shirt up to show the green scales on his lower stomach. “Yeah, well you probably don’t think I am either.”

John gripped his shirt and touching the skin. “Are those scales? Did it infect you with something?”

Dean shoved down his shirt, covering the scales that he loved now. That he took care of like Castiel showed him.

“He didn’t infect me with anything.”

“You expect me to believe that? You went to kill it, then you disappear? We thought you were dead then you just show up hand in hand and I’m supposed to believe that nothing else is happening?”

Dean shook his head, clenching his teeth. The way he carried him used to intimidate him, it used to make him want nothing more than to make him happy, to get his approval, but you didn’t get someone’s love like that.

 “You know what happened? I got away from you,” he said. “I found someone that doesn’t feel like they have to beat the hell out of someone’s confidence to get their respect. I found that there’s a lot of stuff in this world beyond this fucking family. This fucked up family that you broke.”

“I broke?”

“Sam is dead,” Dean yelled. “He’s dead because you were too good to let me know where you went! Do you know what that does? To come home every night and not have any idea if your dad is going to come home? Not even home, to hotel rooms, Dad! Every time you left I wondered what would happen if you didn’t come back. Ten years old and worrying about that shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I did the best I could-.”

“You did what you could and still got what you wanted,” Dean said. “You know what? I’m going home now. And when I get there, I won’t have to wonder if he’s there or if I’m going to disappoint him or if he’s going to beat me down. It took me losing my little brother, my whole fucking life, to get it, but I’ve got it now. I was too much like you and I’m not going to do that shit anymore. I don’t have to. I’ve got a family and I don’t want you ever showing your face around here again.

He went to get in his truck then turned again.

“And if Martin touches anyone around here, I’ll kill him. And if anyone comes after me or Cas, he’ll tear them apart. I won’t try to stop him. This is my home and I want you out of it.”

Dean got into his truck and left the lot, not looking in his mirrors, not looking behind him at all.


	16. Chapter 16

That night Castiel came onto the porch and gave Dean a beer before sitting on the swing beside him. The chain creaked beneath their weight as it swayed. The insects and animals called in the dark as Dean took off the cap and tossed it on the floorboards. In the glade, alligators made their grunts as the wind rose and the storm came in. The damp stagnation mixed with the fresh stir of humidity and it was almost suffocating.

 “What’s wrong?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged and drank as condensation clung to his skin.

“I can smell it on you,” Castiel said, drinking from his own bottle and staring out through the screen.

Dean exhaled and frowned. “My dad showed up at Benny’s.”

“Hm.”

Castiel was staring at the floorboards in front of Dean’s boots, but he was listening. Dean could see it in the way his ear was angled more toward him. He was zoned out to take in every word.

“I told him I didn’t want to see him around anymore, but he knows about you and he knows about Benny and Ray.”

“Are you worried?” Castiel asked, finally looking at him. His pupils were just slits.

Dean shrugged again. “Not really. I know you can take care of yourself.”

Castiel’s eyes were locked on his. The blue of his eyes moved by itself, like it was alive and swimming around the narrow strait of his pupil. 

“No one will touch you while I’m breathing,” he said.

His voice had shifted. It sounded like gravel in a barrel. The words caught him off-guard though. He was used to Castiel taking care of things and talking with him, but not saying things like that. He knew he didn’t have to.

A little movement at the back of Castiel’s neck caught his eye. Above the color of his shirt, the thin line of small scales that would rise in his rut were rising and falling subtly with each breath he took.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I will keep you safe.”

He was around more things that he used to hunt than he had ever been around in his life, but he believed that. At first, it wounded his pride when monsters treated him with more respect when they found out he was a cara, and Castiel’s cara. It didn’t now. Even if he did, arguing about it right now wasn’t the time. Not when Castiel was hitting his mating drive. Obviously Dean couldn’t give him kids, but his instincts didn’t seem to give a shit as he stared at Dean with a deep hum building in his throat.

“I know you will, Cas,” he said, leaning forward, half because he wanted to and half because it felt like he was being hypnotized by the movement in the blue of his eyes.

Castiel kissed him and Dean tried to pull him closer, but that was over. Castiel was usually fine with letting Dean be a mouthy bottom, but not now. It only took one pass of his tongue over Dean’s to turn his bones to jelly another and he fucking whimpered into Castiel’s mouth as his brain shut off.

“You don’t regret what you said.”

It should’ve come out as a question, but Castiel’s teeth were nipping into him.

“No. I don’t.”  

“You have family.”

“I know.”

Castiel took a deep breath against his cheek, brushing his nose against his skin. He looked at Dean and his pupils had widened slightly.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m being territorial. I can’t help myself.”

“That’s alright. Do what you need. Get my mind off it,” Dean said.

Apparently that’s all the consent Castiel needed to completely lose it. The chains holding the swing creaked as they moved. He started to unbutton Castiel’s loose shirt and thought they’d make due on the floorboards. Then Castiel made a guttural noise that vibrated against his chest.

“Upstairs.”

Dean just nodded. Then Castiel was on his feet, nearly lifting Dean off of his.

“You go. Take off your clothes and get into our nest,” Castiel said, then bit his neck so hard it was like an electric jolt.

Dean pushed his face into Castiel’s neck like a cat.

Castiel made his low noise again and Dean’s teeth leaked a flood onto his tongue. Fuck this was stupid. Some part of him thought that, the normal Dean, but when Castiel hit his rut it was like it tampered with Dean’s brain too and chunked his normal restraint right out the window. He didn’t normally act like this until he’d been mellowed by an hour of foreplay then getting fucked so hard he felt boneless.

Castiel kissed him hard, biting into his lip then pushed him toward the back door. Dean went, wiping Castiel’s spit and searc from his already tingling mouth with a flush already flooding up his neck.

He didn’t look at Castiel as he went out of the kitchen then up the stairs to their bedroom. The blankets and cushions were changed from last night. Dean felt his body getting hotter. They were the silver and black ones. The ones that Castiel had made for them by all the materials that were traditional for this, the courting. Oh god. Courting. He was blushing like a fucking school girl and he’d even gone through this two times before.

Dean took off his shirt, then pushed out of his jeans and underwear. He wanted to go wash, but he did that the first time and Castiel had acted like he spit on him. He rolled his head back on his neck and shook the nerves from his arms with the flutter in his guts.

“Lay down.”

Dean glanced back at Castiel as he came in with a glass of water in his hand. He nodded as Castiel went to the fireplace and lit it with his mouth. The blankets and sheets were soft and heavy at the same time. They smelled like them. Fuck Castiel probably didn’t even wash them after the last rut. He couldn’t tell if it disgusted him or turned him on.

When the fire was burning well, Castiel stood up and unbuttoned his shirt then he took off his t-shirt. His eyes locked on Dean’s body, on his face. His teeth gushed against his tongue, starting to make it numb. Castiel was always handsome. Gorgeous. Sexy. All that, but looking at Dean like that, he made Dean’s mouth too stupid to speak.

It didn’t help when he pushed off his pants and sank to his knees in the cushions. His wings came out, blocking out the light for a moment. Fucking breath taking. It was all peacocking, showing off what he could bring to a mate.

Dean fell for it, hard.

He started to lean up, but Castiel caught his wrist that reached for him and pinned it to the mattress.

“I’ll take care of you,” Castiel said, a vibrating promise.

“I know, Cas,” he said quietly.

Then he sank his teeth into Dean’s neck and he almost screamed. It shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did, but it did. It felt brutal and then he was floating, feeling Castiel pulling at his skin. His neck started to tingle. His ass started to clench for something, anything then Castiel’s dick was balls deep inside of him without stretching or warning.

It felt like whatever was left of his brain melted out of his ear.

It was just feeling, taste, smell, sweet friction of their scales together. Castiel’s taste during this was like getting slammed with a truck. It was so potent.

By the time Castiel came, biting him again after Dean nipped him to taste his endorphin laced blood, Dean’s body had gone haywire. Like it forgot he didn’t have the required equipment. All he could think when he felt Castiel pumping him full of cum was, he wanted to give him a family. He would carry his kids.

He was that fucking insane when Castiel hit rut. Nothing mattered but the strong firm body over him, pinning him down. Using him and wanting him. He looked up into the slated pupils of his dragon’s eyes and forgot that anything else mattered.

***

Two days later, Castiel was in the kitchen, making dinner for Dean, who was napping in their nest. He wasn’t allowed to leave it while Castiel was in rut. In his rational mind, Castiel knew it didn’t matter, but his rational mind had mostly fled. All he could think was there would be better chance of his lover conceiving if he stayed in their nest and was bred as often as possible. When he was totally aware of himself, Dean would tease him for it. He wouldn’t tease Dean for the sweet pleas to be bred under the influence of Castiel’s potent searc.

Then the doorbell rang and he went toward it. Instantly, he felt the small scales along his neck flaring and the world became clearer as his pupils narrowed. His mouth turned bitter as his searc turned poisons. It was all completely involuntary and he was too distanced from himself to rein himself in.

He went to the front door and pulled it open with a hiss stirring in his throat. A noise low enough to make the alligators that lived behind their home fall silent.

He knew the man on the doorstep immediately and his hiss turned deeper, rattling like stones in his chest.

John Winchester eyes widened a fraction. Castiel would give him this, it was gone in a less than a moment, more than most could say when seeing him shirtless with his coloring exposed. When his eyes landed on Castiel’s neck, he knew he saw the marks his son’s mouth had raised on his skin. He saw the emotion that crossed his eyes.

He had held Dean’s head to his neck while the blood was raised to his skin. He could still taste Dean on his tongue and he loathed that disgust had crossed John Winchester’s eyes. The easy anger rose hot and fast through him.

“I’m John Winchester, I’m-.”

“I know who you are.”

He could see the deepest pores of his face, each individual gray hair in his beard.

John frowned. “I need to speak to my son.”

“He’s asleep.” John looked passed him. Castiel stepped out onto the porch, forcing John to take a step back as he closed the door. “He will stay that way.”

John stared at him. “Are you his bodyguard, now?”

“Don’t waste my time being foolish.”

“What did you do to him?”

_I fucked him until the only word he knew was my name._

“I’ve given him a home.”

 _He screams it beautifully, with my cock buried in his body._  

His rut made him want to throw those words into this man’s face. The man whose neglect made it difficult for Dean to give affection, whose memories had made Dean cry in his arms more than once. He could not handle the thoughts of his cara crying now. His beautiful face reddened and contorted as he tried to fight back the very rare moments he allowed himself emotion. His low rumble grew and he tried to force it back. If he didn’t, he would kill Dean’s father and leave his body for testament to his enemies.

His rational mind struggled with the part that was nothing but animalistic and archaic.

“You’ve turned him into something. You turned my son into something,” John said between his teeth. 

“You should leave,” Castiel said as calmly as he could.

He could see blood. He could taste it and physically yearned for it.

“I need to see my son,” John said, going to step around him.

Castiel pushed him, gripping his shoulder tightly. There was the small flash of fear in John’s eyes. It wasn’t as easy to leave this time. He could easily feel the bones beneath the skin. It took nearly two millennia of patience to keep from shattering them.

“He has your number.”

John made a twitch to reach beneath his jacket and Castiel squeezed harder. His vision flashed red. Then he bit his own tongue and felt it fade.

“I don’t want to kill you, but you have come at a very bad time,” he said quietly. “If he wants to speak to you, he will call.”

Then the door opened and Castiel felt like murder was inevitable. He didn’t want this cara to have to worry, never, but especially not now. It was a need. It was painful to deny that as Dean opened the door with his eyes still hazy with sleep.

“Cas,” he said softly, not seeming realize anyone else was there. Then he saw his dad and a chunk of the sleep ran from his eyes.

“Dean, we need to talk,” John said.

“Go back inside, please,” Castiel managed, his voice somehow soft and vibrating to Dean.

“I told you to leave,” Dean said.

Castiel put arm around Dean’s shoulders. His wings were threatening to come out. He wanted to engulf him, pull him close. No one should see him right then. Love marks bitten and sucked into his skin around his beautiful scales. Body radiating warmth, trying to conceive in a womb he didn’t have and their hormones didn’t care. It physically pained him with the gland in his heart pumping out burning that spread through his chest like fire.

Dean pressed into his side. Castiel didn’t think he even realized he had done it. John did, though. His eyes narrowed and traveled over Dean’s bare chest to every visible mark.

“We need to talk.”

“We already talked. Leave.”

Then Dean went back inside, leaving the door open for Castiel. John went to follow and Castiel put himself between them. If John put a foot into the house, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He would kill him and he didn’t want Dean’s resentment for that.

“Go,” Castiel said.

Then he went inside and closed the door behind him. He hated to lock it and seem afraid. He wanted John to come inside. He wanted to kill him. Anger frothed in his mind. The smell of tension of Dean’s warm sweet skin. He locked it.

“Cas?”

Dean was in the shadowed archway to the kitchen. His face gaunt. Castiel grabbed him and kissed him, trying to be comforting and he knew it was demanding. His mouth tasted like apprehension and possibly fear. The sound out of his mouth was jagged and primal, quiet.

“Do you want me to take care of this?” Castiel asked. _Please say yes. Please._

Dean shook his head with his eyes closed and pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “I won’t. Not when I’m sane again. Just stressed out. My mind’s all fucked up. With our stuff going on.”

Castiel brushed his nose again his cheek softly then nipped at his jaw.

“Take me back upstairs,” Dean said quietly.

“Of course.”

The catch to this, this need to have Dean submit to him, he would give him anything. He didn’t know if Dean understood the power of that. He didn’t know that he would understand if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of More’s rut, the looks of pure adoration even after his usually sweet lover turned barbaric and held him to the bed with his jaws and hands. His elder, his dominant. He didn’t know if there had ever been a moment when he felt safer than when he was with More in those moments after and was held and taken care of.

He understood how vulnerable Dean felt, his need to feel safe. It only made the failure of letting their safe haven slip more severe.

When he got Dean back into their bedroom, he only let him leave for the bathroom for the next two days as they made love hard and slow until the haze over both of their minds began to fade away.

***

The night after they had somewhat returned to normal, Dean faced Castiel in their nest. The sheets still smelled so much like them. It didn’t gross him out anymore. It was perfect. It smelled like home and comfort. It helped ease the weird kind of emptiness he felt in his stomach. He was conscious enough now to realize how stupid it was, but he still kind of wished he was a chick.

“What are you laughing at?” Castiel asked, brushing his lip beside his mouth.

“Nothing.”

Castiel raised his eyebrow.

“Just that kind of empty feeling,” Dean said, feeling himself get kind of warm.

Castiel nuzzled into his hair. “I would’ve loved to have children with you.”

Dean snorted, but the butterflies Castiel could still give him fluttered deep in his gut.

“The first time I had that feeling with More, I cried for days,” Castiel laughed quietly.

“Puss,” Dean said, but he snuggled into Castiel’s chest.

“I was twenty-five, ass.”

Dean just smiled against his chest. He loved the way he could tease him and hear that little tinge of irritation. It hardly ever stopped the trailing of Castiel’s fingers over his body as they cuddled. It didn’t now either. He dragged his fingers over Dean’s spine softly and kissed his hair occasionally. Outside, the residual of the storm from the Gulf pattered against the windows in the dark.

“Are you going to call your father?”

“I don’t think so.”

Castiel kissed his hair again, like a tick.

“Will you regret it?”

“I don’t think so.”

Castiel gave a small laugh and Dean felt his warmth against his scalp. “Is that all you can say?”

“I don’t think so.”

Castiel dug his fingertips into Dean’s side, making him jerk with a small laugh. It helped get rid of the small hole in his chest at bringing up his dad. It really was small, though. The last three years had helped.

“I’ve been happier with you than I’ve ever been,” Dean finally said quietly. “I’m not bringing him back into it.”

“He is your family.”

“You’re my family.”

Castiel held him closer. Dean was thinking about dozing in his arms, listening to his lungs and his breathing, before Castiel spoke again.

“I wouldn’t have asked you this when you still had ties with your family,” Castiel said quietly. “Or at least, I tried to keep myself from asking. Before I ask, I want you to know, I don’t want an answer immediately. This is yours and yours alone.”

“Kind of scaring me, Cas,” he said forcing a laugh.

“Don’t be scared,” he said quietly, like it physically pained him that Dean would be tense. “I know you don’t have faith or trust a life after this. I do, though. I believe it to my very core with a promise from my creator. When I die, I’ll go to the ones I loved most and who loved me most. I want you to come with me, if that’s what you want.”

“Your family?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel shook his head softly. “Not in the Christian way. We don’t keep your familial bonds that way. I’ll go to More and John.”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed out against Castiel’s chest. He had pieced that together over the last few years, but he’d never had the balls to ask out right. He didn’t know the specifics. He hadn’t asked. He didn’t bring up anything about them unless Castiel was talking about them first. It felt too personal. And it felt like he was a hill on Castiel’s landscape and they were two huge mountains. He just kept hoping with enough erosion, he could grow as large for him.

“You know for sure they’re together?”

“I couldn’t have continued breathing when John died, if I didn’t know More had him in his arms before John opened his eyes in that new place.”

It freaked him out the way it always freaked him out. It freaked him out, because it wasn’t jealously. He felt jealously when he met Nikon. When people looked at Castiel too long. He never felt even an inkling of it when he talked about John and More. Never. And that was fucking weird. He didn’t want to be in their shadows, but Castiel didn’t make him feel that way anyway, not since the very beginning when he felt John’s memory a little more firmly between them than it probably should’ve been. Maybe it was him being used to grief, but even that hadn’t really thrown him. It should have though. It really fucking should have.

But then he shouldn’t leak poison on his own tongue when he got turned on. He shouldn’t be able to be bitten and it make his ass perfectly fuckable. He was something he _shouldn’t_ be, but he was over that.

Not this. Maybe not. His heart beat hard.

“If you died before me they would take you happily,” Castiel said quietly. “I want you to go there with me when we pass, Dean.”

Dean could hear the sincerity in his voice. His tear ducts prickled and he squeezed Castiel’s side, because he couldn’t pull away and show him his face. He wasn’t stupid. This was huge for Castiel. It rocked him down the foundation to know Castiel loved him that much. Enough to put them with the people he still loved after years and years.

“I love you, Cas,” he said quietly.

 _I can’t answer that right now_ , hung between them, but Castiel just kissed his hair again, stroking his cheek.

“I love you too,” Castiel whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I did not expect the turn this story took or I would've tagged it before. But that's kind of the issue with WIPs I guess. I hope this doesn't throw you guys too much. If so, I'm really sorry, but anything else would've felt dishonest to this story and the characters.


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel gave him a candle in thickly blown green glass. It was wavered and old. He would’ve believed if Castiel told him he made it himself. The heat flush of his rut had died and the sweet kindness Dean loved was back in his blue eyes as he cupped Dean’s hands around it.

“This might make you more comfortable with what I’ve asked,” Castiel said.

“What is it?”

“My magic.”

“Sounds like a porn-o,” Dean grinned.

Castiel laughed and it still melted Dean’s heart to see the crinkles around his blue eyes. The little lines he didn’t have when they first got together. Dean kissed lines up his stubble-lined chin. He felt Castiel smile. He did that so much more now than in the beginning.

 

 

It took time for Dean to use the candle. It may or may not have to do with the bottle of label-less whiskey Castiel gave him. Then the compulsion to light it was almost unbearable. That night, Castiel sat him in his office and placed the candle on the desk. He turned out the light and lit it with his mouth before he left the room and closed the door with Dean’s head already fuzzy with burning liquid.

Dean watched the shadows on the walls the candle on the desk made. There were faces more clear than any face in monotone should be. They played like a silent movie as he watched. He leaned against his hand with the cool glass of liquor grazing his forehead as his eyes burned under the whiskey and tiredness.

The whiskey was John’s. It had sat in a cellar somewhere for almost a century, gathering dust and potency. The floral undertone, like thistle ground with black pepper burned well into his stomach, tracing a path down his throat.

His face moved through the shadows with More’s, the brightest flashes of Castiel’s history on a reel, whispered into the wax. It smelled like honey and butter as Dean’s head pulsed quietly while all his thoughts of Sam played in his own mind, always ending with the sound of water splashing as he dragged him from the tub.

***

His dreams that night were black and white on a path of broken-limbed trees. He followed a man in a black wool coat. He was far in front of him and every time Dean blinked he was closer, like he was dragged backwards. Then he was beside Dean. His dark freckles were black against the white-wash of his skin.

 _“Sam didn’t love you enough to stay_.”

An Irish accent, but more poor than the one Castiel could slip into when he was excited.

“He was hurting.”

 _“You come to us, Dean,”_ he said, then the world slammed to a halt and Dean was facing him on the path with dead black leaves swaying down around them. His hand touched Dean’s face and he could nearly feel it. _“You come to us and we’ll give you a family.”_

He felt every word out of the man’s mouth against his lips as his thumb brushed over the hair at the nape of his neck. Their foreheads were nearly touching and they were just breathing, with Dean’s eyes on his open mouth.

_“Kiss him for me.”_

 

Dean woke with sweat beneath him and Castiel sitting against the headboard beside him, reading. He turned the page with a small divot between his eyes. Dean leaned up and kissed him hard enough to feel the backing of his teeth. Castiel took him against his chest and held him tightly, kissing him deep and slow. They didn’t stop until Dean’s heart was pounding to rush blood south instead of making his hands shake.

***

Their liquors were made like milking a snake. Castiel made good on his promise and they made his wine together in the kitchen of a house in Morocco years ago. Castiel had put one of his canines above each bottle they made until drops pooled from them and hit the red liquid below. Castiel asked him to make bottles of his own. Then they made one of their poison mixed. They drank fresh glasses of it and didn’t make it beyond the hard-tiled kitchen floor before they were on each other.

Then nights he was drunk on the red wine, Castiel was in every dream. The nights he drank whiskey, he walked on an empty road with the man in the black coat.

 

“I’m dreaming about John,” he said, while Castiel moved in the kitchen and rare Alabama snow fell, but wouldn’t stick to the muddy ground.

“Are you?” Castiel asked, seasoning over a large pot that was rising steam to the hood vent above the stove. “What does he say?”

“He told me to kiss you.”

Castiel smiled down at the pot and began to stir it. “Then give him my love.”

 

Two nights later, after watching the candle and drinking glasses of the amber liquid, he woke with the taste of thistle and pepper on his tongue and felt like his lips were lined in electricity.

 

***

There was a year of that. A year of drinking a glass of whiskey a few times a week. Those were the nights he didn’t have dreams of Sam. That he didn’t think of his arms covered in blood and his hair matted to his head with cold water. Those nights, Castiel woke him up, pulling him into a hug as Dean tried to wipe the image of Sam getting out of the tub, dripping water on the floor with blood coursing down his arms and onto the floor.

_“It’s your fault, Dean.”_

He would shake until Castiel’s teeth gripped his shoulder and the nightmares faded to dreams of being under Castiel, seeing light through his dark wings.

 

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault,” Castiel said one morning after as Dean dressed in his waighters to pull in his traps.

“I know, Cas,” he said, adjusting the suspenders over his shoulders.

“Do you?” Castiel asked.

Dean could only look in his eyes for a moment, because the sympathy and hurt there was almost crushing. He nodded then went to the door. Castiel caught him before he left and kissed him deeply.

“Come home,” Castiel said when he had somehow sucked the tension out of Dean’s body with his mouth. When he looked at Castiel, he didn’t know what home he was talking about, but he didn’t think it was the one around them.

Dean kissed him again then walked down to the boat dock.

 

“Do you have anything of More’s?” he asked that night. “Any of his liquor?”

Castiel ran his fingers through Dean’s hair where his head was pillowed on his thighs while the TV flashed on his face. “It keeps well, but not that well. I drank the last of his wine in the 1700s.”

“Oh,” Dean said with a glass of sweet amber whiskey balanced on his chest. Castiel took it and swallowed all of it down.

“I have something for us, though. Not much,” Castiel said.

When they were in bed, Castiel straddled his thighs and picked up a small brown glass vial. He held out his tongue and Castiel dropped liquid onto it before he leaned forward and kissed Dean deeply. A heat flash of something like water rushed through him. When he could open his eyes, Castiel’s were narrowed to tiny slits and he knew his mirrored them.

“He’s a force,” Castiel whispered. “Go open to him.”

Dean felt his heart pounding behind his ribs and could only nod. They made love with the taste burning into Dean’s tongue, into his body, radiating around his heart. He was clinging to Castiel when sleep was trying to beat him down, terrified to close his eyes. Castiel kissed him softly between his eyes.

“Bad idea,” he said as the feeling on his tongue swelled until it pounded around his head. He clutched Castiel harder, his rock and didn’t want to let go. “Bad bad idea. I’m scared, Cas, scared.”

“Shh.”

Then he was asleep and falling. He woke standing on a creek bank with pink buds falling on the ground. He saw a flash of color like melted wedding rings then he was held to something warm and breathing. He closed his eyes and held it back. Smells and taste he didn’t know were on his mouth. Old, ancient, and overwhelmingly pure to his chemical conditioned nose.

His voice was a boulder sliding vibration against Dean’s body.

_“Between the three of us, you will never know what lonely feels like.”_

When he woke up, it was still dark and Castiel’s wings were out. They twitched in his sleep with a deep rumble that filled the air between them with his arms wrapped around Dean. What little light there was caught the few tracks of tears down the side of his nose. Dean kissed his lips and tasted the salt of tears, knowing who caused them and feeling nothing like jealously as he curled closer and felt achingly homesick.

 

 

Six months later, Dean stood on a cliff beside Castiel and looked out at the Irish Sea. Its dark water moved below with low white capped waves that were quiet against the rocks. Behind them on a small rise, Castiel had showed him the crumbling stones of a foundation that had once held a roof above his head. He wouldn’t have known what it was if Castiel hadn’t showed him the uniformity of the stones.

They had walked on a gravel road that was slowly returning to nature. It went by a drying creek where Castiel used to wash clothes on the banks, where he lost his virginity. It didn’t look like anything could have ever been living there. The gray shadowed light found the ground and made it all monotone and dead.

He didn’t need color. He could see the love in Castiel’s eyes, the vitality. Now they stood on the cliff where Castiel had grown from a child to a man and Dean took his hand.

“I want to go with you,” he said.

Castiel looked at him with the beautiful blue of his eyes showing more as his pupil narrowed. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen him so happy. Some weight that the last six months had diminished was still trying to cling to his shoulders, slid off. The waves crashed below them and he knew they were swirling like Castiel’s eyes in front of him.

“I’m so glad, Dean.”

Dean hugged him and felt his warm body where his fire was held in his firm chest. It was years away. The nightmares would probably never stop, but they’d lessened. And when they came, Castiel was there, holding him together. The nights he couldn’t face them, John or More were there and there wasn’t a whisper of blood, just promises, and words that filled a void in his chest instead of stripping him bare.

They wouldn’t go home for years, he wasn’t in a hurry to get there, but it was waiting and for the first time he wasn’t scared of closing his eyes forever. He held Castiel and felt something near whole as his dragon rumbled quietly against his chest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to get right. I don't think I nailed it, but I've been working on it for days. 
> 
> Anyway, I ended up loving writing this story. I'm actually really sad it's over.  
> If you guys liked it, I would love to hear about it. If you had an issue with how it came out, leave that comment too if you want. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to follow me on Tumblr I post stories on there, SPN and Teen Wolf. 
> 
>  
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> [TriDom](http://tridom.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CS3 drawing/Image Manip I did, because I really wanted some art for this world. It's no where near perfect, but I kind of like how it came out for being rusty with drawing and photoshop. 
> 
> Side note, I'm turning this into a series with eventual small additions about Cas's previous lovers and possibly after porn in a later addition. If that's something any of you would be interested in just subscribe to the series (just be sure you do the series and not only this story), and I'll post those when I get a few of my other WIPs finished up. :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Hope I didn't annoy you with this little pop up.

[](http://postimage.org/)


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